


No More Ruined Sky

by Kaiel



Category: The Magnus Archives
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Time Travel, Warnings for discussions of suicide, and characters dealing with recovery from suicidal tendencies, eventual happy ish ending, gotta respect the source material here, i swear it gets better, wing fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24084577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiel/pseuds/Kaiel
Summary: There are a lot of avatars that aren’t too happy with the end of the world. So they send the Archivist back to try again- but to ensure he follows through they leave him a few ‘gifts’ to help remind him of his goal.Don’t know what to say about this one folks. Self indulgent wing fic time I suppose.
Relationships: Jonathon Sims/Martin Blackwood
Comments: 346
Kudos: 919





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you thought some of my other works were self indulgent then strap in this is the hight of my hubris. 
> 
> No idea if anyone is going to actually read this, but if you do please let me know what you thought! I was a little nervous to post this one.

Of all the avatars most unhappy with the current state of affairs, two stood out amount the rest as the most displeased. The Beholding has ruined the Sky. Simon Fairchild was not particularly pleased with this turn of events. Oh sure, people could still free fall in the new world, but the sky he had so fallen in love with, the thing that set him down his path with his god, was gone. Replaced by ever-watching eyes, inescapable even as one embraced the falling titan. Simon Fairchild missed the sky, and if he had to make deals with unsavoury avatars to get it back, well physically he may spend time being above things, but he was not above making the deals he had to. 

Oh, the end of the world didn’t bother him so much. People were insignificant anyway, and none of this really mattered of course, and Simon did enjoy that there were fewer people around. But it was hard to enjoy the vast and empty pointlessness of it all when the Watcher’s presence very clearly indicated a point. That point being to be observed. It was hard to embrace the nihilism of his patron when the very existence of the eye blotting out the sky contradicted it. 

Surprisingly, the other avatar most unhappy with the current state of affairs was Jared Hopsworth. He hadn’t wanted an apocalypse in the first place, and while all the bodies and meat around in his little corner of the hellscape that was now their reality were all well and good, he missed bones. The bones he took from people now weren’t good bones. No one needed to eat here in the new world, so no one’s bones were strong. They didn’t need to be, because the rules were different now. But Jared still missed some good bones. He personally wouldn’t have tried all that hard to fix the world however, not because he didn’t want it fixed- but because he didn’t have much in the way of ideas on how to fix it. 

Thankfully Simon Fairchild did. It was not what one might call a good plan, but it was a plan, which was more than Jared would have been able to come up with on his own. It required the cooperation of several entities, and were it not for the fact that Annabelle Cane also appeared to want the world back as it was, Simon doubted it was a plan that would work. But she seemed to be on his side. So now, with his forces gathered, all he had to do was wait for a Spider to net an Archivist. 

***

It was the third phone call that finally worked. Martin answered, stressed and tired and beginning to feel like he was being stalked by vintage telephones. Annabelle didn’t even really try to manipulate Martin this time though. No more than any conversation with her might be considered manipulation at least. 

“No, there’s no way we can trust her,” Jon said, but his voice was filled with doubt. The bait that Annabelle had dangled in front of them was too much even for Jon to dismiss entirely. The chance the undo it all, to go back. 

“Well, I mean after what you did to the Not Sasha, how much would we really be risking meeting with them? It’s not like time has any real meaning anymore. And besides, if she’s telling the truth, their plan is probably better than ours.”

“We don’t have a plan Martin.” Jon said with a sigh. 

“Exactly.” Martin countered. “Look you're- you‘re in charge here right? And, and if they really want to fix things, well we need allies Jon.” 

“I just don’t like that the Web is involved. It makes me very nervous,” Jon said with a sigh. The Web was one of his very very few blind spots and he didn’t much care for anything resembling being blind these days. 

“Yeah.” Martin agreed, taking Jon’s hand. “But if all else fails, we kill them all and go back to plan A. Besides, you may not be able to see the Web, but Annabelle said Simon Fairchild was involved. You can see him right?” Jon wasn’t sure he was entirely comfortable with how murder-happy Martin had become of late, but he supposed everyone had to cope with the apocalypse in their own ways. Martin was also correct. He could see Simon Fairchild. They weren’t all that far away from where this supposed council of avatars was supposed to meet, and everything he now Knew about Simon Fairchild did seem to indicate that Annabelle had been telling the truth. 

“Alright, fine. We- we’ll go. If there really is a way to fix this then I suppose we can’t afford not to take the chance.”

“Yes!” Martin fist pumped the air, and Jon couldn’t help but smile. 

He wasn’t smiling when he realized exactly what the plan was though. No one seemed to believe it was possible to put the genie back in the bottle as it were so they were talking about going back. Which, yes, Jon could see the appeal. If it were possible to prevent this from ever happening they would save millions of people the trauma of the various microcosms of hell, but it also meant that Martin couldn’t come with.

No one could. If they went through with it, the only one strong enough in this new ruined world to survive going back, was the Archivist. A living chronicle of terror Jonah Magnus had called him. He felt like it now more then ever. What they were talking about was essentially downloading his current memories into his past body. Jon was more than a little hesitant to agree, for a number of reasons. Of course once the plan was explained Jon Knew it would work. He was surprised to learn that the Eye wasn’t fighting him on this either. Though Jon supposed now that it had seen the world ended it was still looking for new things to watch. It wasn’t going to actively help, but it wouldn’t hinder either. 

No, the thing that stopped Jon short more then anything, was Martin. If he went back in time, the Martin he fell in love with would be gone. It would be like loving someone with amnesia. Jon looked at Martin, then back at the assembled Avatars. There was Simon Fairchild, Annabelle Cain, Jared Hopsworth, presumably a representative of the stranger, and Helen. The last one had been a bit of a surprise actually, though Jon supposed it shouldn’t have been. The world was madness right now, which meant that anyone Helen preyed on, well the fear was there but the flavour was wrong. Jon Knew, he wished he didn’t, but he wished he didn’t know a lot of things these days. 

“I- I need to think it over.” He finally said. Annabelle shrugged. 

“It’s not like time really means anything,” she said. Simon seemed amused at that and Jon knew the lack of time was one of the few things about Armageddon that he actually enjoyed.

“Right, right,” Jon said absently, pulling Martin away. Leading them far enough away so as not to be overheard. Well. Overheard by anyone save the Eye; though there wasn’t much one could do to avoid its gaze these days. 

“What do you think Martin?” Jon asked.

“I mean, can we trust them? Are they telling the truth? Cuz it sounds too good to be true.” 

“It’s- yes. Yes they are telling the truth. But there’s a catch. If they send me back, it’s me alone that’s going, and I wouldn’t be able to survive the trip were I human, so I’ll only be able to go back as far as my coma.”

“Well, that’s not great, but it’s still a chance to stop this from happening.”

Jon sighed, his guilt weighing on him heavily. “Yes yes of course you’re right. I-“ Jon stopped and shook his head. 

“There’s something else. What is it?” Martin ask, grabbing Jon’s hand. 

“It’s just- If I go back you won’t remember us,” Jon said helplessly. “I- I know that’s not the biggest issue, and the fate of the world is literally at stake, but, when I woke up from my coma the first time you were, you were gone and I-“

“Sisyphus,” Martin said abruptly. 

“I- I’m sorry what?” Jon said bewildered.

“That’s my time travel word.”

Jon stared at Martin. “I don’t- what?”

“When all the mess with the entities first started I figured since our lives are basically a bad horror novel there was the distinctive possibility that one day, we may have to deal with time travel or something. So I came up with a time travel code word, so if I met myself I’d know it was me and not one of the Not Them or something.”

“I- Martin that’s-“ Jon began to laugh. “That’s brilliant. You are incredible.” He added through his laughter in a way that implied incredible really meant ‘huge nerd’ but it was said with love, and Martin laughed too. 

“If- if we’re doing this, I want to give you a statement,” Martin said after a while. “For, for past me, I know you can remember all the statements word for word, so I want you to take one from me so if you need to you can recite it for past me.” 

“So- so we’re doing this then?” Jon asked, a slight tremor in his voice. 

“I- I guess so.” Martin said, a matching tremor in his own voice. “Statement of Martin Blackwood regarding his love for Jonathon Sims, the Archivist. Statement begins.”

***

“Right” Simon said once Jon and Martin returned with their answer. “If we are doing this there are a few things we need to take care of. You ruined the sky, so I want to make sure that when you get sent back, you have some incentive not to ruin it again. So you are going to accept a blessing from the Falling Titan- and one from Mr Bone Man here, feels cheated by this whole thing. Just to ensure you keep up your end of the deal.” Simon gestured to Jared Hopsworth. Jon saw Martin open his mouth to protest. 

“Fine.” Jon agreed before Martin could disagree. Now that his mind was made up he wanted to get this over with, and it wasn’t like it was really possibly for him to be any less marked by the entities. Martin shot Jon a glare. 

“Perfect!” Simon said, clapping his hands together and leaning forward to pat Jon on the shoulder. It sent a shiver through his entire body but was rather underwhelming. 

“That’s it?” he asked. 

“For my part yes,” Simon said cheerfully stepping aside to allow Jared Hopsworth to approach. Jon shut his eyes to brace, and while he felt Jared’s massive hand cover his back, and felt a sharp jolt run though him, once again, it was drastically underwhelming. 

“That- that wasn’t so bad.” Jon muttered. 

“Might hurt later,” Jared grunted. And Jon decided not to think about that. He could feel on the edges of his mind that it would be very easy to Know, but he also knew he didn’t actually want that knowledge right now.

“Alright Archivist. Let’s send you back.” Annabelle said with a smile. 

***

“So what does it mean?” Jon heard Georgie ask. He took a deep breath.

“Nothing good,” He wheezed, his voice horse from months of disuse. He heard Georgie and Basira exclaim in surprise. “Sorry,” Jon said with a bit of a laugh. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I’ll get a nurse,” Georgie said. 

“Wait,” Basira said grabbing her arm. 

“Basira,” Georgie said in annoyance. 

“Jon is it… still you?” she asked carefully. 

“Yes and no,” Jon responded. “It’s… complicated,” He winced. This wasn’t going any better than it had the first time around. “You aren’t going to believe me no matter what I say though.” He pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing at a strange twinge in his back. 

“Enough,” Georgie said. “Just- just stay still. I’m getting a nurse.” 

“Alright Georgie,” Jon said knowing now there was no point in arguing. She left the room clearly shaken. Jon suspected that his friendship with her wasn’t going to be something he could rekindle in this timeline either. 

“Right,” Basira said. “Do you need some water or something?”

“Tea would be nice if you don’t mind.” Jon said. He could feel Jonah’s eyes on him, but he also knew that outside of the Panopticon they were more evenly matched, but Jon’s body in the current timeline was malnourished and in no state to turn the gaze away. 

“Right,” she said. Jon resisted the urge to ask for the statement in her bag. He had already read it. It likely wouldn’t do him any good. Besides, asking for it last time had just cemented Basira’s distrust in him. He had no idea how to make this play out in a way that would earn anyone’s trust, but flaunting his monstrous traits probably wasn’t going to help. Basira hesitated, looking off-balance, and Jon realized he hadn’t asked about what happened yet. To her perspective he didn’t even know he had been in a coma. 

“The- the others, did-“

“No,” Basira said, almost with relief, as though not talking about it had been physically painful. “You’ve been in a coma for six months Jon.” 

“I see,” Jon said, unsure of what the appropriate response was. Basira didn’t seem to know how to take this either and left to get the tea, not even mentioning the statement in her bag. Jon was glad. He wasn’t looking forward to being reliant on statements again. At least at the end of the world the ambient fear was more than enough to sustain him. Even if it did still require ‘ominous monologues’ as Martin called them. And Jon felt a stab of pain in his heart thinking of Martin. Sisyphus, he reminded himself. As soon as he got back to the institute. 

Georgie returned with the nurse before Basira got back with the tea, and the conversation this time around was even more painful than the first one had been. But it didn’t feel as closed off as it had the first time. Georgie seemed less wary of Jon, maybe because the Nurse had said his vitals still weren’t great? And when she asked how he felt he answered honestly and told her his back ached something awful. 

Apparently not being 100% fine after a six month coma put Georgie at ease. Jon tried not to be bothered by that. She didn’t stay long after that though, and by the time Basira came back in holding a paper cup of hospital cafeteria tea she had gone. Basira waited until he had a long drink to speak. 

“Better?” 

“Getting there,” Jon wheezed. His voice still wasn’t entirely returned and he suspected he really would need a statement before he would feel alright again. 

“Right. I have questions.”

Jon nodded.

“What are you?” She asked.

Jon suppressed a wince. Even knowing it was coming, it was still hard to hear. 

“A monster I suspect,” Jon said tiredly. This was clearly not the answer Basira expected. He supposed she expected him to deny it like he had the first time around. “I don’t- I don’t know exactly how to explain.“ He saw her eyes harden and he just knew if he gave her a chance to speak she would demand he try anyway. So he quickly pressed on. “But I will do my best.” What to say, how much information to give her? Was there anything he could say to get her to actually trust him? Or at the very least to limit the outright hostility?

“I am the Archivist,” he said. “I- I’m tied to the institute, to the role, the statements are- the Eye-“ Jon stopped and sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter. You don’t care what I am. You want to know if you can trust me and nothing I say to you will convince you that you can.” Jon winced as he felt his back twinge again.

“You’re right about that.” Basira said with a sigh. 

“Oh!” Jon sat up more fully nearly spilling his tea. “Melanie- she, in her leg, there’s a bullet, it- it needs to come out, it’s- it’s a mark of the Slaughter,” Jon said, remembering his disastrous first meeting back with her. 

“You gonna tell me how you know that?” Basira asked crossing her arms and staring at him with mistrust. Jon gave her a helpless look. “Right.”

“It needs to come out. The longer it’s in there the worse it’s going to be to get it out. She’s- she’s been angry a lot hasn’t she.” Jon made sure not to make it a question. He wasn’t sure he was strong enough right now to resist Compelling her. 

“A lot has happened Jon.” Basira said flatly. 

“Right, yes, yes of course, but-“

“I’ll talk to her,” Basira cut in. 

“Would she- do you think she’ll- if you think that will work,” he finally settled on. 

“Do you need anything else?” Basira asked and Jon shook his head. She didn’t say anything else as she turned to leave. 

The next step would be to get in touch with Martin. Jon drew in a shaky breath. Then it was into the coffin. He had to get Daisy out. She deserved nothing less. Jon scratched at his back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok first off, CONTENT WARNINGS posted at the bottom ive upped the rating too,
> 
> So I was blown away by the response I got for the first chapter, thank you all so much, I hope you all enjoy this one too!

Jon had been told to take at least a week to rest at home before going back to work. In the first timeline he had ignored it and gone back in the next day. Considering he didn’t have a flat anymore thanks to his six month coma, the decision hadn’t exactly been difficult. This time around though, he was grateful for the chance to reacclimatize himself to living in the world before the end. It did leave him with the issue of where he would go now. 

After a quick trip to a second hand store to pick up a few sets of clothing, he ended up in one of Daisy’s bolt holes: a mobile home parked just outside of the city, but well hidden. It was more of a weapons cache than anything, but it would do for now. Besides, Jon knew this was one of the safe houses that Basira didn’t know about. Jon would have felt guilty for using it, but he figured pulling Daisy out of the Buried twice should make up for it. It wasn’t a large RV but Jon wasn’t a large man, so it did well enough. It was well stocked with emergency provisions, though Jon made a mental note to replace what he took. 

It was odd. The first time he woke up post-coma he felt completely fine. This time, however, his very bones ached. It felt like someone was hollowing them out with a rusty spoon. Maybe the statement that he read when he first woke up really had made a difference? Well it didn’t really matter, he Knew since he had already read the statement that Basira had brought with her it would do him no good. He needed something fresh. Or at the very least a written statement he hadn’t already read. 

Jon sighed. He contemplated the dried goods in the cupboard but in the end he was too tired to even think about standing over the tiny single-burner stovetop. He grabbed a granola bar and curled up in the small bed. He hadn’t taken two bites before he found himself worshiping at the porcelain throne. 

The deep red fluid that spewed from his lips probably wasn’t a good sign. Neither were the bits of what looked like bone that floated up when he was done. He tried to Know and immediately wished he hadn’t. It just gave him confirmation that it had in fact been bone that he threw up. Part of his femur in fact. 

His bones were apparently hollowing themselves out. He supposed that this must have been Jared Hopsworth’s doing. Jon sighed and wiped his mouth, flushing the toilet and rising shakily to his feet. The Knowledge that there would be a lot more of this to go before it was over floated down into his brain and Jon groaned. He dragged a garbage bin over to the bed and resigned himself to a very long night. 

He woke up sometime the next day having drifted off at some point in the night, to the sound of his cell phone ringing. 

“Hello?” he asked, still half asleep. 

“Jon, I think you might be right about Melanie. How do we get the bullet out?” 

“What? Oh, um” Jon sat up and immediately regretted it as a wave of nausea hit him, he sat very very still hoping it would pass and he wouldn’t have to throw up while on the phone. “It, we’ll need to cut it out of her.” He said. 

“And you think you can do that? You can get it out safely?” 

“Yes.” Jon answered without hesitation. 

“Right.” He could hear the surprise in her voice at his confidence. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. “Right, we need to get it out soon then. Were you coming in to work today?” Jon glanced at the clock, and saw the read out for 9am. He bit back a groan. He had barely slept for two hours. 

“I, um I can,” he said regretting every syllable. 

“Good, we can take care of it tonight then,” Basira said, either ignoring or oblivious to Jon’s distress. She hung up. Jon groaned and rubbed his hands across his face. At the current rate he Knew it was going to be at least another day until his bones were finished hollowing themselves out, and everything hurt. Well, Basira had said they would deal with Melanie tonight, which meant that Jon could probably get away with sleeping for another few hours before calling a cab to get back to the institute. He hardly even finished the thought before he was asleep again. 

He woke up again a little after noon, and after once more relieving his stomach contents of bits of liquefied bone and blood he made his way to the Institute, though he told the cabbie to stop some three blocks away. There was something he needed to get first to ensure this went well. 

The young man he met in an alley way was happy to sell him a few white pills to ensure Melanie was properly unconscious when they operated. Jon really didn’t want her waking up mid-surgery again. She didn’t deserve that kind of trauma. He almost resisted the urge to take a statement from the drug dealer. Almost. 

It was the man’s own fault really. He started talking about the last time he had used the little white pills on a girl in a bar- unprompted and, well. Jon didn’t even feel guilty about this one. 

The man was left a gibbering mess in the alley way, and Jon actually felt worlds better. He entered the institute and managed to avoid everyone there, though he most definitely cheated using his Beholding powers to do so; and quietly shut himself into his office. Which lasted all of ten minutes before he found himself running to the men’s restroom to relieve himself of more liquified bone and marrow. 

He rested his head on the edge of the toilet seat in exhaustion. He heard something move outside the stall door and Jon tensed, reaching out without thinking to Know who it was. It was-

“Martin?” Jon asked horsely the accidental compulsion leaking into the question and Jon winced. 

“Yes,” came the forced answer and Jon was on his feet and out of the stall in seconds. Martin was standing frozen to the spot looking angry with himself. Though it softened a little when he saw how gaunt Jon looked. 

“Sisyphus.” Jon said. Martin blinked in shock. “I- I promise I didn’t Know it, you told me to tell you Sisyphus.”

“Jon, you really shouldn’t joke like that it’s no- it’s not funny,” Martin struggles out, though doubt coloured his face.

“Please Martin it’s, it’s not a joke, it really really isn’t.” Jon fumbled in his pocket for a pen and grabbed a square of toilet paper. He quickly scrawled the location of the mobile home. In the institute there was very little that Jonah Magnus couldn’t see, the entire Institute was a temple to the Eye, but Jon Knew that outside of his seat of power, Jon was strong enough to hide their conversation. “Here, it’s, I know we can’t talk here. Come to this address tonight. I-I’ll explain everything, then if you still want to- want to work with Peter Lukas I promise I won’t try to interfere.” He held the paper out. Martin just stared at him. “Please Martin.” Finally he reached out and took it. Jon let out a sigh of relief and tiredly rubbed at his eyes. 

“Thank yo-“ he looked up. Martin was gone. Jon sighed again and made his way to the break room, looking through the fridge for the leftover soup he Knew Melanie was planning on having for dinner and and dropping the little white pills inside it, before making himself some tea and retreating back to his office, trying not to feel like a monster for roofieing his coworker. 

He managed to get through three full statements and notes before Basira appeared in his office. She stared at him for a full minute before speaking, and despite Jon being very used to being watched, something in her gaze left him feeling deeply vulnerable. 

“You look like shit,” she said, sounding slightly surprised. 

“Well, yes I was in a coma for six months,” he bit back. 

“Yeah, but, you’ve had a statement. I would have figured your-“ she waved a hand, “inhumanness would save you the mess of recovery.”

“Evidently I’m still human enough for that,” Jon said with a sigh. Though he knew that wasn’t exactly true. 

“Should you even be back here then?” Basira asked. And Jon was certain he was deluding himself when he though he heard a touch of concern in her voice. 

“I hadn’t been planning on coming back until next week,” he confessed, and the anger in her eyes brought him back to familiar territory. 

“Once this is done you should go home and rest then.” She froze as if something was occurring to her. “Jon,” she said carefully, “your flat- did you still-“ 

“I’m staying at a friend’s mobile home while they are… out of town,” he cut in, entirely unsure of how to handle Basira’s concern. 

“Right. That’s, that’s good.” She said awkwardly. Jon was deeply out of his depth here. The last time, Basira had shown absolutely no concern for his well being after he had woken up from his coma, and Jon couldn’t really blame her for it. He supposed it was more human that he didn’t seem immediately recovered. Though he knew his present state had nothing to do with the coma. He was almost tempted to mentally thank Jared Hopsworth. It was nice not to be constantly met with open hostility on all sides. His stomach turned uncomfortably and another throb of pain landed through his bones, and he was quickly dissuaded of any gratitude he may have felt. 

“Melanie then,” Jon said, intentionally keeping the questioning tones from his voice. He was going to do better this time. No more compelling people accidentally. 

“Right, yeah, she passed out on the break room couch, I guess she got tired of sleeping on the ground in the tunnels.”

Jon glanced towards the clock. It was already 8, he realized with some surprise. But then time always did seem to get away from him when he was reading statements. 

“Right, you, uh, you brought some anesthetic I- well I assume.” Jon stumbled over his words, first to stop the question, but mostly because Basira hadn’t actually told him about the anesthetic in this time line. He flinched a little at her suspicious look. “No, um no Knowing, just an assumption,” he stuttered out. 

“Yeah,” she said after another minute of suspicious staring. “I brought some. Are you going to know where to inject it?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. “I- I tried to Know, to- I don’t want to hurt her.” His voice trailed off at the end bracing himself for her disdain. But it never came. She was giving him a curious look now, like she couldn’t figure out why he looked like he was braced for a punch. Jon supposed there had been less outright hostility this time around, but still, he couldn’t parse why Basira would be surprised at his fear of her response. 

“That’s… good,” she said awkwardly. He followed her to the couch where Melanie was passed out, and watched her gently lift the other woman up and lay her on the floor. She pulled the capped needle and vial from her bag and passed it to Jon while she got busy cutting Melanie’s trousers open. 

“Ok, yes. Right. Peroneal nerve.” Jon muttered to himself as he approached, and carefully injected Melanie’s leg. “So the bullet is lodged in the Vastus Medialis muscle, just between the femoral artery and the popliteal vein, so we’ll have to be very careful about this.” Basira was staring at Jon again, but this time he wasn’t going to tone down the monster-ness. After they had removed the bullet the first time Melanie had had to suffer through weeks of recovery and complications. 

There was a high risk of compartment syndrome and not to mention infection since the archive break room wasn’t exactly a sterile environment- still it was an improvement over the tunnels no doubt. Jon opened a package of latex gloves and left it beside Melanie before getting up. While they waited for the anesthetic to take effect he needed to get a few things ready. He set a kettle to boil and grabbed two forks from the kitchen, bending the tines into a sort of hook, he put them in a bowl and poured the boiling water in. It wasn’t great but it would have to do. Then he went about scrubbing his hands and arms down with soap. 

“What are you doing?” asked Basira, more curious than angry, which Jon counted as a win. 

“The forks will work in the place of surgical retractors. They need to be sterilized, and you should probably scrub your hands too- otherwise we just increase Melanie’s risk of complications.” Basira was staring at him again an indecipherable look in her eyes, but Jon didn’t really know what to do about it. He moved aside while waiting for his hands to dry to let her access the sink. He didn’t want to risk recontaminating his hands by using a towel. 

Before he knew it, he was posed over Melanie’s leg, scalpel in hand. 

“We don’t have anything to suction the excess blood away, so you’ll have to do it with the cotton cloths, and once I make the incision I’ll need you to use the forks like retractors to hold the laceration open,” Jon said, looking to Basira briefly for confirmation. And then he began to cut. It went a lot more smoothly this time, and Jon was able to remove the bullet, stop the excess bleeding and apply the stitches without Melanie even so much as twitching. As he applied the surgical dressing onto the wound and wrapped the last of the bandages he let out a sigh of relief. Basira gave a nervous laugh of relief right along with him. She even smiled at him which was- well it was nice. He had missed people smiling at him. It was a comforting novelty.

Unfortunately it didn’t last long, as Jon had to very quickly make an exit to the restroom as more bits of liquified bone and bloody mass exited his body. He groaned miserably as he flushed the toilet and went to splash some cool water on his face. 

“Jon?” Basira’s voice came for the doorway he had neglected to lock in his rush. “You alright?” There was concern in her voice and Jon didn’t really know how to handle that. 

“I-“ he cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m fine. Just, can’t keep anything down right now.” It wasn’t technically even a lie. “Stomach wasn’t really used much for the last six months,” he added. Also not technically a lie, but most definitely not the cause of his current problem. Still, Jon figured it was better then trying to explain the truth. She’d never believe him anyway. 

“You should go home.” 

“I- yes. I, I’ll do that.” Jon stammered out. He needed to meet with Martin anyway. 

“I’ll call you a cab,” Basira said, already leaving. It wasn’t much but it was more compassion than he though she had ever shown him the first time around, and Jon didn’t really know how to process that. 

By the time Jon got back to the mobile home his back had begun to throb. All of his bones still ached, but this was different. No matter how he shifted he couldn’t seem to get comfortable, and he thought his shoulders might even be swollen somehow. He didn’t think there was a point in Knowing what was going on. It was probably just more of whatever bone hollowing nonsense Jared Hopsworth had set in motion. Thank god this would all be over soon. 

Martin was already there when Jon arrived, and he did not look happy. He had been pacing in front of the door for a while by the time Jon stumbled out of the cab. He held off speaking though until after Jon had opened the door and locked it behind them again.

“What the hell Jon.” It was a statement of fact, not a question. 

“Right, yes, ok. So I caused the end of the world, and I’m trying to stop it from happening again?” He let it all out in a rush. He really wasn’t sure where to start, and every time he looked at Martin all he could think about was the last time His Martin had told him he loved him. Martin blinked. 

“You want to run that by me again?” Martin said, then after a moment added, “maybe start from the beginning.”

“Ah- um yes, yes alright so first of all, Elias is actually Jonah Magnus, and, well we should sit down this is going to take a while.” As Jon painstakingly laid out the details of what had happened, Martin began to fidget. When Jon described what happened between them in the Lonely, only barely holding back tears Martin got up and began to make tea, unable to fully process what Jon was saying. By the time Jon finished, it was late. 

“Jon, I don’t- I don’t even know where to begin with all of that,” Martin said helplessly. 

“Are you-“ Jon started, but then stopped himself and rephrased to prevent the compulsion. “Peter Lukas. Your intent to continue working with him. I- I don’t want to accidentally compel you to answer, but I would like to know where you stand.” Jon was incredibly proud of himself for that little verbal tango. 

“I don’t know Jon, this is- this is a lot. I, I’m going to go home. I can’t- I need some time.” 

“Oh, uh yes, yes of course, I, alright.” Jon said awkwardly. “Can I- will I-“ he sighed. “I would like to see you again.” He finally settled on. Martin’s expression broke Jon’s heart. It was so conflicted. Jon looked down unable to bear it. 

“I- next week ok? I’ll- I’ll come back here in one week,” Martin said. Jon’s eyes snapped up, but Martin was already gone. Jon sighed and shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his back was both incredibly itchy and ached on a bone deep level. He made sure the waste bin was next to the bed and settled in for another long night of discomfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings- gore, non-consensual surgery, vomit, discussion and use of roofie (NO sexual content)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally the wings come into play, poor Jon is not having a great time right now, thank you all so so much for your reviews and support on this one it means the world to me

If Jon had thought the past night was bad it had nothing on this one. At around one in the morning he began to develop a horrible aching pain in his back, far worse then anything he had felt throughout the day. It felt like when Jared Hopsworth had removed his ribs but this time he could feel it shifting his shoulder blades, reshaping them. He didn’t know how his body could still be changing. His bones had finished hollowing themselves out hours ago, and he had finally flushed the last of it down the toilet. 

During one of the breaks in the throbbing in his back he pilfered Daisy’s supply of emergency pain killers, but they had little effect on his now thoroughly altered physiology. He finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep around four in the morning, once more walking through people’s nightmares, but at least in his sleep the pain was dulled to more of an ache than the hot burning agony it had been when he was awake. 

When he woke, late into the afternoon of the next day he felt- not good but better. The pain in his back now felt more like a deep growing pain, unpleasant of course, but more manageable. He very carefully sat up and stretched his arms. He felt something else stretch with them, and his mind rebelled against the foreign sensation. It surprised him so much he ended up tumbling out of bed and onto the floor. 

Very slowly, Jon turned his head to look over his shoulder. He could see the tiniest sign of movement out of the corner of his eye and rushed to the tiny bathroom mirror. He stood sideways and with a deep breath turned to look. It was not a pretty sight. Out of his back there were two... shapes. As though someone had stuck extra bones in his back and they were growing into new arms. 

But then when he tensed in alarm, the shapes flared and he could see there was a membrane of skin the connected them deeper than an arm, stretching all the way down his back. The skin looked wrong too, more like a plucked chicken than anything. Jon bit back a scream. He reached back in a morbid horror to touch one of the lumps. It was perhaps thirty centimetres in length and it felt a great deal like touching his arm, but his mind rebelled at the sensation of touching a part of himself that shouldn’t exist. He recalled with a horrible startled clarity that Simon Fairchild and Jared Hopsworth both had given him a ‘blessing’ from their patron. 

Jon could have slapped himself for his stupidity. His bones hollowing themselves out, the strange growths on his back, there was really only one conclusion he could come to and Jon really didn’t want to come to it. He fell to his knees and leaned his right shoulder against the door frame, careful not to jostle the- the things on his back too much. 

The visible physical mark of his inhumanity, he thought helplessly. He doubted there was an easy way to reverse the process without involving Hopsworth further, and Jon would very much like to keep his ribs this time around. Not to mention, with everything going on he didn’t exactly have time to deal with personal problems. 

The next big hurdle he had to deal with now was what to tell the others. On the one hand, keeping this from them was probably a really bad idea. On the other hand, Basira and even Georgie had actually been treating him better this time around and Jon was hesitant to do anything that might upset the balance. Especially since if he told them about the wings he would either have to tell them the truth about starting the apocalypse and the deal he had made, or make up some kind of lie. Avatars with physical marks of their patron weren’t unknown of course. Helen was a prime example. However, wings didn’t exactly fit with his patron, so Jon doubted they would buy that it was just a sign that he was an avatar. 

He eventually decided the best course of action was to let them finish growing and see if it was possible to hide them, at least until the mess with Jonah Magnus was dealt with. If not, then he’d have to tell the others anyway. His decision made, Jon was left with the prospect of facing the next week enduring this alone. Daisy’s mobile home didn’t even have a proper shower, and Jon doubted he’d fit inside the tiny space very comfortably with two additional limbs to contend with. 

Which left Jon with the unfortunate option of either finding a more permanent residence, or actually telling someone what was happening to him. As he had already ruled out the latter, he supposed that meant he would be distracting himself from the pain of his back and his own horror at the situation by flat shopping. If Jon was being honest, flat shopping was a horror all its own. 

The next problem Jon found himself facing once he had finally dragged himself to his feet and retrieved his laptop, was sitting. Which, with the steadily growing… things, presented new and painful challenges. The chairs were a no go, too wide to comfortably straddle and the back rests were too high. Besides, even leaning forward he could feel the alien weight on his back, tugging at him, and the aching pain of them contending with gravity wasn’t worth it. Next he tried laying on his stomach, but as that required him to prop himself up on his elbows causing the new and only half-formed muscles to contract that option was quickly discarded as well. 

Jon was so frustrated he was tempted to Know if there was a comfortable position that he could exist in at all. Eventually he settled for pilling up whatever blankets and clothing he had to prop his chest up allowing him to finally use his laptop properly. By this time, the growths had added another 10 centimetres to their length and Jon could see/feel the start of a joint forming. It was a deeply disquieting sensation. 

The biggest problem with flat shopping, Jon quickly found, was that it felt incredibly pointless. He would likely spend most of his time at the Institute once he went back to work, and with the amount that he seemed to get kidnapped or attacked in general, it would hardly be safe to stay there. Jon thought back to the Institute showers with a shudder. Then again, at the very least it would be nice to find a place with a half decent bathtub. 

Thankfully, money wasn’t much of an issue. In between browsing for flats he made sure to pitches a few stocks that he Knew would be doing well in the coming weeks. It was most definitely cheating, and he wouldn’t have been able to do it at all if he hadn’t come from the future – though even planning for the future felt, perhaps a bit overly optimistic – but the lack of financial limitations would allow him to find a flat far more quickly, and maybe he’d be able to find one with some decent security. Not that that would keep most of the avatars out, but it might at the very least provide some semblance of advance warning should he be attacked. 

He did find a few places that would work for his purposes and fired off a few emails asking for tenant applications, making sure to throw in the sob story about having been in a coma the last few months and needing to move in right away, having lost his previous flat. He wasn’t above using personal tragedy for convenience’s sake, especially where strangers were concerned. It wasn’t even a lie at any rate. 

By the time Jon was satisfied that he had done all he could, he was surprised to find it was far later then he would have expected. He stretched and tried to ignore the way his new limbs shifted and pulled at his skin in strange and disconcerting ways. They were just over half a meter in length now, and there was a clearly articulated joint in them. He could sort of wiggle the ends of it if he didn’t think about it too hard, but all the new sensory information made his head ache. At least now he could get the first section that had grown to lie flat against his back. Which was inconvenient in its own way of course, since now he could feel the limbs pressing against him, but it was better then accidentally smacking them on a wall. They ached with a deep persistent pain, but at least because it was so persistent it was easier to ignore than if it were throbbing. 

He checked his phone and winced a little at all the missed messages. The most recent, and the most surprising was a long text from Melanie. 

“First of all, I’m angry. But I guess I have been angry a lot these days. Basira said you were the one who cut me open. Which was really uncool, but you were right. I probably wouldn’t have consented to it in the first place and, it needed to come out. So I guess thank you. I don’t know how I feel about you Jon, if you even are Jon. But my head does feel clearer. So if nothing else I’m willing to talk to you. See how much of you is left.”

That was unexpected coming from Melanie. Especially so soon after removing the influence of the Slaughter. Jon Looked and tried to Know what was different, and he could See how Basira had sat with her until she woke up, how she had been gentle in explaining what had happened- and most touchingly, how she had explained that Jon came in to help, despite the fact that he really didn’t look like he should be on his feet so soon after the coma. 

A self-deprecating part of Jon wanted to laugh. All it would have taken the first time around was to have been more hurt when waking up from his coma? He supposed it was fair. After everything he had done it probably made them feel better to see him suffer a bit. He couldn’t blame them. He was more of a monster now then he had ever been. He most certainly didn’t deserve their kindness, but after everything he appreciated even the brief chance to pretend he was worth being kind to. 

The next few messages were from Basira, explaining how things had gone with Melanie, that they had gone to get the injury checked up by a doctor; who had said Jon’s stitch work was excellent- he supposed there was some advantages to growing up with his grandmother as his only parental figure. The last of Basira’s messages was a reminder to get some rest and to call if he needed anything. Jon was touched. 

The final few messages were from Georgie. 

“Jon, Melanie said you aren’t staying at the institute, and Basira said you are staying with a friend?? I know you lost your flat while in a coma!”

“Jon even before all the supernatural bullshit- I know all your friends, is it that man who felt like Death who visited you in the hospital? It better not be. He felt like bad news Jon.”

“Jon answer me where are you? Look I still don’t want anything to do with this supernatural shit, but I didn’t just spend six months at your bed side for you to die in a back alley. Please answer me. Are you at least at a hotel?”

“Jon please answer me.” 

There was one additional text after from Basira telling Jon to text Georgie back. Jon rubbed at his face. How on earth was he supposed to reply to Georgie? He couldn’t tell her he was staying at Daisy’s place, that would bring up all sorts of questions. She hadn’t spoken to him willingly at all the first time around, but now she seemed worked up enough to come and see him for herself, which was the last thing he needed right now. 

“Sorry Georgie, I was asleep for most of the day. I’m fine.” That would probably be enough, Jon hoped. It didn’t take long for the reply.

“Where are you Jon? if you’re sleeping that much and still getting sick after a coma they shouldn’t have released you from the hospital.” Jon sighed. There was no way for him to win here. His phone started to ring in his hands and he sighed again, swiping to answer. 

“Hello Georgie.” He said. 

“Jon who are you staying with?”

“I- um, one of those Air BnB things. A nurse helped me set it up before they released me.” It was as good a lie as any, and it was plausible at least. Jon was quite proud of himself actually. Normally he was a rubbish liar. 

“Are you actually okay Jon?”

“I’m probably more ok then I should be,” he said with a sigh and braced himself for the same response from her he had gotten the first time around. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing, but, take care of yourself. I- when you have a more permanent living situation sorted out, or if you’re staying at the Institute, I have the stuff from your flat in a storage locker. I’ll get you the key.” 

“Oh,” Jon let out in surprise. She hadn’t given him anything last time. He supposed it was possible that she just didn’t want to talk to him that badly- or maybe she had wanted him to reach out first? “I- you, um. Thank you. I though my things had been trashed.”

“You didn’t really have all that much to deal with, but I know how much money you spent on that couch. Just, take care of yourself Jon,” she repeated and hung up. Jon didn’t know how he felt about that conversation. It was… different. Jon couldn’t fully process it all, so he focused on making dinner instead. Pasta and canned sauce was about as much effort as he was really able to put in, but it was filling, and Jon felt a bit better for having eaten it. 

Then he stared at the shower. With the length of the new appendages increasing every minute he didn’t think he’d be able to fit in there for very much longer. But the thought of having to feel water running down the new growths filled him with a sense of dread. Then again, very little in his life didn’t fill him with a sense of dread. Jon braced himself. 

The warm water actually helped ease some of the ache in his back much to Jon’s delight and surprise. It also helped him focus on just one thing – made the new limbs feel a little less alien. Which was a start at least. 

It wasn’t long until Jon fell back into a deep sleep. The past two nights hadn’t exactly been restful, and the continual dull ache in his back was still easier to bear than his bones hollowing out and liquefying. 

When Jon awoke late into the next afternoon, it was to the unpleasant feeling of his arm having fallen asleep- he wasn’t used to sleeping on his stomach and when he sat up to stretch he did so without taking proper precautions, banging both new limbs hard into the walls. Jon cursed and clutched at injured and tender ends, only to vastly misjudge how much they had grown in the night. A second joint had made itself known and while it was clear they still weren’t at their final size, they were each more than a metre long and Jon ended up smacking himself in the face, tangling himself up in uncoordinated limbs until he fell to the floor and laid in a discombobulated pile. 

When he did finally manage to disentangle himself and fold the limbs agains his back, he was pleased to see that if he pulled them in tightly, they didn’t stick up too far above his natural shoulders. They started further down his back than he would have thought, just under his natural shoulder blades. A creative use of shoulder pad should make it relatively simple to hide. The bigger problem was that he could already tell they would likely be longer then his hip, and hiding that was going to be more of a problem. For now he could make sure to keep his shirt untucked and maybe steal one of Daisy’s longer jacket that he had found hidden amongst some of the weapons in the hideout. It was clearly too large on him, but that worked to Jon’s favour in this case. 

Checking his phone confirmed his suspicions. At least one of the flats he had asked after was willing to accept him right away. The landlord’s brother was still in a coma in the hospital and helping Jon felt like helping him in some way and- Jon pulled himself back, he didn’t want to Know any of that. 

Putting on a shirt was torturous. The appendages didn’t want to be contained and the fabric immediately irritated the delicate new skin. Jon stole one of Daisy’s old hoodies. It was big enough on him that it hid the bulge on his back well enough. It would have to do. Jon gathered the few things he had, including an air mattress from Daisy’s emergency supplies and some of her food, and called a cab. 

The paper work he had to sign with his new landlord was blessedly short and Jon soon found himself alone in his new unfurnished flat.

He quickly locked the door and relieved himself of a shirt, sighing in relief. They had begun to itch something awful. A fine fluff had begun to cover them, and if he parted it, he could see dozens of angry looking pinpricks where he could see something was punching its way through the skin. Jon was unable to stop himself from scratching at them. Which of course only made them itch and hurt more. 

The one truely excellent thing about his new flat was the bathtub. It had a jacuzzi-sized tub, jets included, and Jon excitedly filled it up, jumping in and soaking his poor back. There was enough of an angle that if he rested on his shoulder blades the new limbs could rest in the space in between, gently flapping back and forth, feeling the way the water tugged at the fluff. It was the first brief moment since he had woken up that absolutely nothing hurt, and Jon allowed himself a moment to relish it. 

Jon was so relaxed that he hardly was aware of himself as he got out and pumped up the air mattress, and was asleep seconds after he laid down. 

When he woke next, it was to the most hellish itching he had ever experienced. The pain had been bad, but this was an irritation that seemed bone deep. The limbs had finally reached what Jon judged to be their full size his own hight and a half again no less; the second joint had grown a wicked looking curved claw that Jon resolved to begin duct taping down before he slept, lest he pop his mattress. They were fully covered now in a soft grey down, and a few of the pin feathers had popped through. The ones that hadn’t yet itched so much they burned. 

Jon spent nearly the entire day in the bathroom, if not in the tub then with the hot water of the shower cranked to max to create a hot humid environment to help soothe the delicate skin. About a third of the pin feathers had pulled free to reveal various black and grey feathers matching his hair in a salt and pepper colouration. But the remaining pin feathers, and the ones that hadn’t yet broken the skin’s surface were no less itchy than they had been, and Jon got little sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit me up in Tumblr if you’d like to chat! @nireidi


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man where to begin, thank you all so much for your lovely reviews, between writing the last Chapter and this one I managed to survive my second last exam so yay! Human anatomy is hard, your reviews kept me sane.
> 
> and thank you to THISisGREAT for the incredible picture of winged Jon!

Art by [THISisGREAT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/THISisGREAT/pseuds/THISisGREAT)

Most of the feathers had grown in by the time Jon finally gave up on pretending to sleep. A fair number of them were still coated in the thick waxy coating that covered the pin feathers though, so Jon resigned himself to spending his morning once again in the bathroom. 

When he stood up to stretch, his movement caused piles of down to flutter around the room as the very act of stretching put Jon in the middle of his own personal wind storm. He estimated the span to be somewhere between 4 and 5 meters total. He was pleased to see that even with all the plumage grown in they still laid relatively flat against his back when folded and only came to about two thirds of the way down his thighs. The feathers were largely grey and brown with a few black ones littered throughout, but they had a strange iridescent sort of quality when the light hit them. 

Jon noticed a strange marking on the tips of the primaries, and groaned. On the ends of the longest three feathers were stylized eyes. It figured. He carefully unwound the duct tape from the clawed tips, wincing as parts of it had stuck to some of the fluffy down feathers, and then it was off to the bath. 

Drying off with all his plumage fully grown in was far more of a hassle than it was worth, Jon very quickly realized once he got out of the tub. He was grateful there was no furniture in his flat, as in order to dry off he found himself forced to flap the new limbs to shed water off of them. He ended up watching a full four hours of documentaries on birds, as well as a number of YouTube tutorials for how to help your bird preen. It was somewhat humiliating, though it did have the advantage of making Jon feel less like a monster and more like an over-sized parakeet. 

He determined after his feathers had dried that he had powder down feathers rather than oil glands- but that still left him with the arduous process of actually preening. It was not a fun process, though it did help relieve the itching, and the sections that he had finished felt a million times better. 

There was a knocking on one of his windows. Jon froze. There was an old man on his balcony. His 14th-story balcony. It was a familiar old man. He waved cheerfully at Jon. Simon Fairchild.

Jon sighed. Nearby a tape recorder turned on. No point in trying to hide anything. Jon had been preening in full view of the window, and there was no way he hadn’t been seen, not to mention all the small piles of down and feather that now littered the apartment. Jon pushed himself to his feet and went to open the door. 

“Hello Archivist.”

“Simon Fairchild.” Simon stepped inside and looked around the empty flat. Then looked critically at Jon. 

“You know I do believe we have a no pets policy in the complex, you might want to consider investing in a broom, or someone may think you’re keeping a bird in here- or at least that you lost a fight with a duvet.” Simon laughed at his own joke, entirely unaffected by Jon’s glare. 

“ **Why are you here?** ” Jon asked, the compulsion layering his voice. 

“No need for that Archivist- I’m here because I’m your landlord- imagine my surprise when an avatar of the Eye rents a place in one of my humble little properties! Well I came to say hello of course, and probably push you off the roof, but this is a delightful surprise!” Jon was kicking himself for not looking into who actually owned the building. What if it had been one of the Lukases? Or the Web? He had gotten lucky with Fairchild, he hoped. 

“ **What do you want?** ” 

“Oh nothing really,” Simon said approaching Jon, examining him with a critical eye. Jon wasn’t sure weather to fold his new limbs or flare them out in some kind of ill advised threat display, so they were sort of half flared behind him, feathers puffed up to make them look bigger. Though that was out of Jon’s conscious control. 

“They are magnificent, aren’t they?” Simon mused. “Tell me, what happened that the Falling Titan and the Flesh would have worked together like this?” Jon opened his mouth, but closed it again entirely unsure what to say. Fairchild was an oddity among Avatars. Oh he was dangerous, and he certainly had sent his fair share of statement-givers Jon’s way, but the man himself was largely detached from the kind of violence so many Avatars favoured. 

It seemed more often than not, he just wanted to mess with people, and have his own twisted version of a good time. It was strange meeting this version of the man after meeting him at the end of the world. 

“Ohh was it time travel?” Simon asked. 

“What?” Jon said so taken aback by the leap of logic that the question was entirely devoid of compulsion. 

“Oh it was! How fascinating!” And suddenly Jon found himself falling. 

He frantically tried to right himself, flapping madly to try and catch the wind, pinwheeling until he finally seemed to get enough air beneath his, his wings to stay aloft. With the muscles working hard to keep him in the air, he was surprised at how good it felt. How natural. He wasn’t really falling now so much as gliding in place- as there was nothing but sky. It was easier to assume he simply wasn’t moving. He could hear Simon laughing. 

“How delightful! An Archivist who can fly! I figured we could talk comfortably here. No peeking eyes to look in on us.” Simon was falling beside Jon, falling in place, or perhaps Jon was falling too- it was hard to tell. Direction didn’t really work right in a world with only Up. 

“Now, tell me Archivist, whose ritual won? Or did the Extinction finally emerge?” 

“The- the Eye,” Jon said, at something of a loss, for while he was surprisingly unbothered by the Vast’s domain, the last thing he wanted to do was get stuck here. At least the Buried had an exit in the coffin. Where was the exit to the sky?

“Hmm, I cant say that’s really the way I saw it heading,” Simon said, largely unbothered. “What was it that the Eye did that made the Falling Titan intervene? I mean, considering our own insignificance and all it must have been something truly terrible.”

“The Eye devoured the sky,” Jon said.

Simon wrinkled his nose in disgust. “How positively droll,” he said. “Odd that you would have been the one sent back, but I suppose there were reasons. From what Peter tells me you aren’t a big supporter of your patron.” 

“I- I just don’t want the world to end.” Jon said defensively. He really didn’t want to get stuck here. 

“Oh it doesn’t really matter, but if I hated what the Eye did to the sky so much to put my mark on you, well, that doesn’t bode well.” His cheerful tone of voice was entirely wrong for the serious subject matter, but that seemed to just be how Simon was. He was separated from people, and caring to a large extent by the simple vastness of his own insignificance. However, just because Simon knew he didn’t matter, didn’t mean he didn’t want to have fun. And if the end of the world hadn’t been fun, then he would simply have to stop it. And if he failed? No loss- he could always try something different. It didn’t really matter anyway. 

“ **How do you know it was you who Marked me?** ” Jon very suddenly feared that the other Avatars had managed to lie to him somehow, and had somehow managed to send others back in time too. Jon’s heart ached for his Martin. 

“Because I’ve been wanting to try that particular Mark out for a very long time!” Simon replied. “The trouble was it required me to work with the Viscera, and that Bone fellow, nasty business, but here you are, Marked with my signature! So I get all the fun of watching you without actually having to talk with the Bone fellow at all! How are you finding them?” Simon asked. He seemed fascinated by the gentle flap of Jon’s wings as he stabilized himself in the rushing wind. 

“Preening is more trouble than it’s worth,” Jon muttered.

Simon laughed. “Yes I suppose it would be without help. Though I’ll bet having to spend so much time on them really helps drive home the pointlessness of everything, so it’s really a win-win for me.” He flipped around in the air, now appearing to be lying on his stomach, propping his head up on his arms. 

“Yes thank you ever so much for that.” Jon bit out, sarcasm dripping from every word. Simon laughed. 

“I like you, Archivist. Peter Lukas has all sorts of things to say against you, but between you and me, he isn’t much of a people person.” Jon let out a derisive snort at that. Who would have thought the Avatar of the Vast would be a master of the understatement. 

“ **Was there anything you wanted from me or did you just kidnap me to irritate me?** ” Jon finally asked. His patience was starting to wear thin, and he had a feeling that time wasn’t passing right in this place. 

“Oh I’m just here for a laugh. Tell you what, you figure out how to get out of here, and I’ll bankroll your entire operation- whatever you need to take down Elias, or stop the extinction. How’s that for a wager?” Jon had no idea what to say, on the one hand it would be good to have an ally, on the other hand- Simon Fairchild was a wild card, and not one Jon had any interest in messing around with. 

“ **And if I say no?** ”

“I’ll leave you here anyway. Ohh that is a strange feeling when you do that,” he said with a laugh. “I figure if we sent you back in time, you’re probably important to the ritual. If you stay nice and safe right here it can’t happen, so I win either way really. Good Luck!” 

And the man began to fall away. The distance growing quickly between them until Jon was alone in the vast expanse of sky. 

“Right, ok. You can do this,” he said to himself. Though he could still hear the faint hiss of the tape recorder that had apparently made its home in his back pocket. “Great. Just, just focus on your anchor,” he told himself. And his heart hurt thinking of Martin. His Martin. Not this one who didn’t know him or love him yet. Not like his Martin did. This might be harder than Jon thought. But slowly, as Jon flapped his wings, he thought he could see something below him. Using instincts he wasn’t aware he had, he pulled the wings in close and went into a spiralling dive. He could see the woods above Daisy’s mobile home, and he dove for the small clearing. He attempted to pull up at the last minute to land, but badly misjudged it and ended up in a tree, wings tangled up in the branches and feathers all out of alignment. 

“Jon?” Crap. That was Martin. Jon had no idea what to tell him about the latest developments. 

“Hi Martin. I- um I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow?”

“Jon it’s been a week.” 

“Right, right, that’s. Ok.” He tried to wiggle his way out of the tree, but was unsuccessful. 

“Would you like to explain what’s going on?” Martin voice was not hostile but it also brooked no room for argument. 

“Not- um. Not really.” Jon mumbled. “I- um, Simon Fairchild came by to say hello. But um, I could use some assistance getting down. I think I might be stuck.” Martin stared at him a while, notably Not asking about the wings, though Jon knew that conversation was coming and he was not looking forward to it. “There’s, um, there’s a ladder over by the-“ but Martin had already left to retrieve it. And it wasn’t long before Martin was up in the tree with him. 

“I- uh, I’m going to need to touch-“ Martin gestured at the feathery monstrosities currently keeping Jon stuck in the tree. He didn’t really have the fine motor control down with them yet and attempting to move one, invariably seemed to move the other. 

“Oh, um yes, go- go ahead.” Jon stuttered out. The feathers standing on end at the idea of someone else touching the- the wings. He forced himself to call them what they were.

Martin’s touch was gentle, but even through the muffled sensation of feathers, Jon felt like he was on fire under Martin’s grip. Martin made short work of detangling Jon, and Jon felt mildly guilty for Knowing that it was because Martin once rescued a crow that had flown into a window and been tangled up in the rose bush in much the same way Jon was tangled in the tree. When the last branch shifted and Jon began to fall, Martin caught him and pulled him into his arms. 

“Oh! You’re so light!” Marin said in surprise, overcompensating and nearly toppling them both off the ladder. When they were both safely back on the ground, Jon attempted to fold the wings, but with all the leaves and branches sticking out of them, it didn’t do as much to hide them as Jon would have liked. Not to mention he was shirtless. He tried to fold his arms to hide away some of himself at least but it really just made him look smaller. 

“So, I have questions,” Martin started. “I’m let start with, what the hell??”

Jon sighed. “Let’s go inside,” he said, already missing his spacious new flat, and dreading attempting to find a comfortable way to sit down. “So you remember Jared Hopsworth?” he began.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why this chapter took me so long to write, but reading all your comments really help me push through the block so thank you all so so much!

Chapter 5

Martin had no idea what to do with this latest development, and it was clear Jon didn’t really either. Martin had spent the last week trying to figure out what to do about what Jon had told him. On the one hand the only reason he had been working with Peter Lukas in the first place, was to help stop the Extinction, and now Martin knew as much as Peter did. So working with Peter no longer served its original purpose. On the other hand, if Martin stopped working with him he put the others at risk of Peter’s anger. Not to mention the third secret part of Martin that was oddly ok with serving the Lonely. Thankfully that last part was still small. Though Martin knew its wouldn’t take a lot to feed it. 

Jon shifted uncomfortably; in order to sit at the small table he had had to spread his wings to either side of himself and lean awkwardly forward. But it was clearly quite cramped. And Martin couldn’t imagine it was comfortable with all the leaves and sticks still littering his feathers. 

“So, you know the future then, what happens next? What’s your plan?” Martin asked. Jon seemed to shrink a bit at the question. 

“I- well I meant to come up with something, but, um the uh last week, I’ve been a little distracted.” He mumbled. His left wing twitched slightly and a few leaves fell out. Martin gave Jon an appraising look. 

“Right. You said you had an apartment?” Jon nodded. “Well, I took Elias’s company car, so I can drive us there, and, and I guess we’ll try and figure this out.” Jon’s head snapped up, his eyes filled with a sort of mad hope. He hadn’t told Martin explicitly about their relationship, though he knew Martin suspected something. Without Looking into Martins head though Jon couldn’t be sure what it was exactly though. And Jon had promised not to Know things about Martin, or at least he’d promised  His Martin that, and he would try and give this Martin the same curtesy. 

So with a blanket wrapped awkwardly around his shoulders to cover the wings, they made their way to the car. Which was when the next problem became immediately apparent. 

“I’m, um, not sure I’ll really fit.” Jon said looking at the passenger seat. The thought of sitting on the feathers filled him with a sense of horror, the roots were still so sensitive and Jon could only imagine how painful it would be. 

Martin gave Jon a look, and then opened the back door of the car. Jon flushed. It was a rather obvious solution now that it was pointed out and he awkwardly crammed himself onto his side in the backseat. 

“I can’t believe you stole Elias’s company car.” Jon said half to himself, in part because his Martin had never told him about it, and in part because it was objectively hilarious to think about how angry it probably made Elias. 

“I mean technically I think it’s Peter’s car now. Your spouse gets possession of your things when you’re in jail right?” Martin mused and Jon felt like someone had poured ice down his shirt. 

“They’re married???!?” He exclaimed in disgust and confusion. The shock so potent that there wasn’t even a compulsion to his question. Martin glanced back at Jon over his shoulder and started to laugh. 

“You’re from the future, and you’re supposed to be like, omniscient, how do you not know that?” Jon went a little red and pulled the blanket over his head while Martin laughed. It wasn’t quite the same as the easy banter he had had with his Martin, but for the short car ride Jon closed his eyes and allowed himself to pretend. 

Getting back into the apartment was less of a problem then Jon would have thought, he thankfully still had his key in his trouser pocket, and it was late enough that most people were already home having dinner so the lobby was blessedly empty. Wide open and empty, Jon supposed he probably should have realized this building was owned by an avatar of the Vast sooner. He had just really like the idea of such an open floor plan. Which, now that he was thinking about it, might have had something to do with the very obvious mark of the Vast he carried on his back. 

Jon dropped the blanket as soon as the door to his flat was closed and locked, wincing as several leaves fluttered to the ground. 

“Sorry, I- it’s, they are incredibly itchy and I- I think I need to, to preen.” Jon said, a slightly manic edge to his voice as he said the word preen. God how was this his life? Martin stared at him a moment. 

“Right, spread ‘em.” Martin said after a tense silence. He then turned a vibrant shade of scarlet. “I- I mean the-“ he gestured vaguely hoping Jon would get the point. “If, if you want the help, that is, it just, it looks like there’s a lot of hard to reach spots- and I-“ Martin cut himself off looking deeply uncomfortable. He had spent far too many months in the cover of the Lonely. Speaking seemed harder now somehow, and the thought of touching Jon- even the new inhuman part of Jon sent a secret thrill down his spine. Martin couldn’t remember the last time he had touched another person. It had been part of Peter’s rules. No physical contact. Helped with the whole isolation thing. 

Jon felt his own cheeks heat up a little as he sat down on the floor and cautiously spread his wings out, he was very aware of his half undressed state as Martin knelt down beside him and gently reached out to stroke Jon’s primary feathers. Jon fought back a flinch- it wasn’t that he didn’t want Martin to touch him, or help, but the sensation was so much more alien then when Jon did it himself. 

He couldn’t really feel the feathers themselves, they were a lot like hair that way, but he could feel the way they pulled from the root where they were connected to skin and bone and blood. It was a weird feeling, and Jon had no idea if he liked it or not. 

What he did like, was the feeling of Martin’s gentle and careful fingers removing leaves and bits of stick. Jon busied himself cleaning the underside of the other wing, fighting the heat in his cheeks as Martin figured out what the powder down feathers were for and began really digging in to coat Jon’s other feathers. 

“We really do need to come up with a plan though Jon.” Martin said and Jon fought back a moan of delight as Martin’s clever fingers straightened a feather he hadn’t even realized was bothering him. 

“Right, well, I suspect that the encounters I’ve had with the entities in the other timeline still count as marks, so just avoiding the Lonely and the Dark probably won’t be enough. I’m pretty certain though, if we kill Elias’s original body, and destroy his eyes that should take care of the apocalypse at least. Since he’s the one that forced me to start it, and I certainly wouldn’t do it willingly. It should free you all from the Institute too, if I’m right about what it will do to me.” He added the last part under his breath. He hadn’t actually meant to say it, but he was tired and it was hard to focus with Martin’s fingers so deeply embedded in his feathers. He rather felt like his mind might be turning to goo. 

“Do you want to elaborate on that last part?” Martin asked, calm, but deadly. Jon tensed. 

“Not, not really.” He said. Martin sighed and removed his fingers from Jon’s feathers. Jon fought back an audible whine at the loss. “I’m bound to the institute. To Jonah Magnus. But the archival assistants, you aren’t. You are bound to the Archivist. If the Archivist dies, you go free.” There was silence. Jon fought down a strange urge to begin plucking feathers in his discomfort. The Beholding deposited information about stressed birds feather plucking directly into his brain in a most unhelpful manner. 

“So you’re saying to stop the apocalypse we need to kill you?” Martin finally managed to get out. It was strangled sounding and Jon couldn’t bare to face Martin, he kept his eyes downcast. 

“I don’t know.” He answered honestly. “I- it’s possible that the deep marks I bare curtesy of the Vast and the Flesh might offer me some protection should Jonah Magnus die, and I might survive the backlash, but, well this situation has never happened before so I can’t exactly  Know .” 

“Jon you’re an idiot.”

“Well- I mean, I , well, yes I suppose, but, um...” Jon really didn’t know where he was going with that so he sort of trailed off and Martin finally resumed clearing debris from Jon’s wings and helping preen his feathers. 

“Is there anyone who might know? Any way we can find out how to kill Jonah Magnus without killing you?” Jon shifted as Martin switched wings. 

“I- well, maybe Annabelle Cane might know?” Jon ventured. “I mean, she did know how to send me back, though that may have just been because the Mother had ensured there was a soft spot in time and reality. Hilltop Road that is.” He clarified, the Mother of puppets, always had a contingency plan. 

“Huh.” Martin said, and there was the gentle sound of a few leaves drifting to the floor. “So we need to ask the Spiders then.” Martin said matter of factly. 

“It’s not that simple- and besides Martin, Elias- Jonah Magnus needs to die, if he’s left alive he’ll just try his ritual again, and maybe next time the Archivist won’t want to stop him. That’s the problem. Now that it’s happened once the Eye has that knowledge. Even if I die, the next Archivist might Know how to start the apocalypse up and agin, and maybe they will actually want it.” Jon paused in his preening to run a hand through his hair.

“It’s, the apocalypse was awful, but- in many ways it felt right. And I- I’m ashamed to say that a part of me misses it.” Worse it wasn’t just the part of him that missed his Martin either. Jon missed not being hungry. But this was better. It had to be. He was choosing to stay as human as he could. And humans didn’t want the end of the world. 

“What are you going to tell the other archival assistants?” Martin asked. 

“I- well, I don’t really know. I-“ Jon sighed. “Once I rescue Daisy, I’ll tell them everything then. I just need to get Daisy out first.” One of the very few good things to come from Jon ending the world, was the Knowledge of a very specific Leitner. One that Jon Knew would be able to help Daisy with her more monstrous side. He’d have to see if Simon Fairchild would hold up his end of the bargain and assist in its accusation. 

“Ok. Well, I guess that’s a reasonable step one, get Daisy, and talk to the Spiders.” Jon turned to look at Martin, who was busying himself with Jon’s feathers. “We are Not planning further ahead beyond that. Agreed?” Jon shifted a little, uncomfortable at the intensity of Martin’s voice. 

“Ok.” Jon agreed, because for all that Jon knew how this had to end he didn’t Know it, and he couldn’t bare to hurt Martin. Even if his agreement was only delaying the inevitable. 

“Ok.” Martin agreed. “That still leaves the problem of Peter Lukas.” 

“I really don’t think he’ll be as much of a problem as you think Martin. The man doesn’t do well with confrontation.” Jon thought back to his last conversation with the unfortunate sailor.

“But that doesn’t mean it won’t put others of the Institute at risk-“ Martin began. Jon cut him off and explained the wager that Elias and Lukas currently had going. 

“So really if you try to distance yourself from him, he is going to do everything in his power to stay on your good side and win you back.” Martin nodded. 

“Right, well, I guess we take it a day at a time then?” Jon nodded. “First I guess we need to find you something to wear for work tomorrow.” Jon sighed, he was dreading trying to find something to wear and dreading more the idea of having to keep the damned wings completely still for a full eight hours.

There was a knock at the door. Martin froze but Jon Knew it was only a delivery. And stood up, giving the wings a good shake before puffing out the feathers and folding them tightly to his back. 

“I suspect that will be the answer to my wardrobe problem.” Jon said opening the door and retrieving the large box sitting there. 

“Who sent that?”

“I mentioned that Mr. Fairchild said hello? Well he’s apparently my landlord. He made a um, a wager that if I could escape the Vast he’d help with stoping the apocalypse. I suspect this is his idea of helping.” Jon pulled out a short section of pool noodle from the box. He slipped the hollow tube over the deadly claw of his right wing. This would be a great deal easier then duck-taping the claw tips. Even if it was a little humiliating. He slipped the second pool noodle on his left wing claw. He also pulled out a button up shirt with two suspicious holes cut in the back, and he eagerly put it on. Grateful to be able to finally wear a shirt again. There was also a collection of leather straps that looked far too much like BDSM gear for Jon’s comfort, but he Knew there were meant to immobilize his wings. Jon suppressed a shudder at the though of how deeply uncomfortably that was going to be. 

Martin reached into the box and pulled out a long suit jacket. It didn’t have holes in the back, but there was a sort of slit in the lining. Jon took it from Martin and put it on, it took a few tries but eventually he got it right. 

The lining of the jacket was cut in such a way so as to allow Jon to slip the wings inside of it, while the outer part of the coat remained intact. 

“What do you think?” Jon asked Martin. 

“No, um no visible feathers.” Martin breathed out. It was a fairly tightly tailored outfit and Martin had always thought Jon cleaned up well. Aside from the feathers in his hair you couldn’t tell that there was anything other then standard Jon underneath the jacket. Martin blushed a little. 

“Good enough.” Jon said with a sigh. Martin shifted awkwardly. 

“I’m, um, I’m going to go now.” He said. He had a lot to think about, not to mention- he wasn’t really used to talking with people for this long anymore, and Martin didn’t really know what to do with himself. 

The two said their good byes and Martin promised to come down to the Archives tomorrow for lunch. So as not to completely isolate himself. And then Martin left. His only regret was that he hadn’t thought to take a picture of the ridiculous pool noodles on Jon’s wings. 

Martin wished he was more surprised by the wings, but if he was being honest the only thing that surprised him about them, was the fact that they weren’t more covered in eyes. 

***

Jon’s first day back in the archives was unsurprisingly an abysmal failure to start. He had managed to get there on the tube ok, he didn’t need to sit down on the tube- and he would have been hard pressed to do so in the morning rush anyway. However, when he arrived in his office Jon was faced with the very real problem of his office chair. 

It was a very nice chair. One of the few nice things in his office. The original chair that Gertrude had used had been covered in blood when Jon took over the role of Archivist, so he had managed to snag one of the newer rolling chairs from accounting. The wheels didn’t even squeak. Jon had been very happy to have that chair. It was quite comfortable too. 

Now however, he could not seem to come up with a way to actually be able to sit in it. Jon had been staring at it for a solid five minutes before he just gave up and tried to Behold a solution. He was graced with the knowledge that in the bottom left drawer of his desk there was a screwdriver. Jon sighed. He supposed it would have to do. 

With the back of the chair removed Jon was able to sit on the modified stool with at lest some minor degree of comfort. He stashed the backrest behind a shelf and prayed that no one would notice it. If he was lucky no one would be in today. The knock on his door told him that he wasn’t going to be lucky. 

“Come in.” He bit his tongue hard to stop himself from adding a name to the sentence before the door opened. It was genuinely difficult not to Know the little things, but he also knew it made people very uncomfortable. 

Melanie stood in the open door way. Looking like she would very much like not to be there. Jon couldn’t stop his eyes from darting to her leg, though he couldn’t see the wound through her pants, he could help but Know it was healing well with no sign of infection. The silence stretched out between them. 

“Was there something I could do for you- I mean um can I- no,” Jon took a deep breath and tried again to structure the question without asking. “If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.” Nailed it. Melanie continued to stare at Jon for a while before finally giving a very small laugh and coming in to sit at the crappy folding chair on the other side of Jon’s desk. 

“So it’s every question now that forces people to answer then?” She asked. It had really been too much to hope that she hadn’t noticed. 

“I- um, I don’t- I don’t really know.” Jon said with a nervous swallow, decidedly Not making eye contact. “I- I can’t really stop it from happening if I ask and I can’t control it so I, I’ve been trying to avoid questions.” He gave a self depreciating laugh. “It’s um, it’s harder then you’d think.” He didn’t know why he added the last part. Melanie wouldn’t care. The others had never really cared how hard it was for Jon to stay human. How hard it was not to be a monster. 

“That’s, that’s good.” Melanie said awkwardly. Jon risked a glance up at her and immediately regretted it. She looked like she would rather be anywhere else in the world. 

“Melanie I’m so so sorry about what happened, and I- I know you don’t want to be here. And I’m sorry about that too, I- I think I may have a solution for you- so you can leave but, I- I need more time to confirm it.” The last part was a lie of course, and Jon truly felt like a monster for it, but Jon could feel Elias’s eyes on them and he couldn’t risk revealing what he knew too soon. Melanie looked at him with an intensity that truly belonged to a woman marked by the Eye. 

“I really want to hate you Jon.” Jon looked away again and braved himself for whatever she was about to say. Melanie sighed in frustration. 

“See there you go again, every time I try to get angry at you you flinch like an abused dog. Yeah, you are a monster.” Jon couldn’t fight back the flinch, he knew it but it always hurt to hear it said. And he was more of a monster now then she realized. Not to mention it just increased his guilt, for not being able to tell her how to leave the Institute yet. “But I don’t know if you really chose to be. And I can see that, that you’re trying.” She shook her head. 

“I don’t like you Jon. You’re an ass, and your powers frankly terrify me, and I know you drugged me somehow, the night you sliced me open. Which is a whole other level of fucked up. Non-consensual drugging to add to non-consensual surgery.” Jon opened his mouth to try and defend himself, to try and suppress the overwhelming tide of shame and guilt somehow, but Melanie beat him to it. 

“But- I um, I guess thank you? Waking up in the middle of having my leg sliced open probably would have been pretty traumatizing and I’ve had enough time the last few days to realize that if nothing else I’m grateful I didn’t have to deal with that.” 

“Oh.” Jon said. He didn’t really know how to deal with this. The closest he had come to friendship with Melanie was after she had gouged her own eyes out. And to hope for even the most basic lack of animosity had been far more than Jon had expected. “I, um, hope it’s healing well.” He said in lieu of asking how she was feeling. 

“Yeah.” She said and Jon Knew the doctor who had looked at it had prescribed her some antibiotics to prevent infection, but was confident it would heal without too much scarring. “Right, I’m going to go now.” She stood up, but turned just before she reached the door. “We aren’t friends Jon, but, but I don’t think we have to be enemies.” She said before slipping out of his office and leaving Jon alone. 

He rested his head in his hands and tried to stop the exhausted tears that threatened his eyes. It felt like that conversation had gutted him completely. In part because of its unexpected nature but mostly because of the unfamiliar feeling of hope that he couldn’t seem to crush that had taken root in his chest. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea why this took so long to write, thank you all so much for your support on this one! special thanks to ThisIsGreat for the incredible fanart!
> 
> Your comments kept me going through my blocks so thank you all so so much for them!

Artwork by [ThisIsGreat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/THISisGREAT/pseuds/THISisGREAT)

Jon only made it through one statement before the next challenge of his new situation made itself known. It was never exactly warm in the archives, but the nature of his wings required the jacket he was wearing to be quite heavy. Not to mention he had multiple layers of down insulating his back and leather straps holding it there. Which was to say that Jon was hot. Very, very hot. He managed to tough it out for about an hour, but he was very quickly realizing that this was not going to be a battle he could win. 

The timing was tricky, since Basira was at her desk and he needed to be able to sneak past her, but eventually she got up to get a fresh cup of tea and Jon was on the move. He Knew somewhere in the Legal department there was a working fan. That fan was going to be his. Gavin from Legal was just going to have to deal with it- or requisition a new one from Peter Lukas. 

Grand theft desk fan completed, Jon retreated back to his office and cranked it up as high as it could go. Which was, of course, when Jon realized the next problem. He couldn’t record a new statement over the sound of the fan. Jon dropped his head to his desk and groaned. The next time he saw Simon Fairchild he may just lose it. The new additions to his body were quite possibly more frustrating than having to talk around his questions. 

Thinking of Simon Fairchild, Jon was reminded of a certain book he would be requiring. He flipped open his laptop and opened up his email. He Knew Simon’s address, so that wasn’t much of a barrier. And he Knew the title and location of the book he needed. It was a Leitner of course, entitled “The Nature of the Beast.” At present it was in an auction house, and would be sold for a ridiculous amount of money. If Simon kept up his end of the deal, it would be Simon’s money it sold to. 

Email sent, Jon checked the clock and realized that it was nearly time for lunch. He stood up, and made his way to the break room, a small thrill lacing through him when he saw Martin there, his feathers attempting to puff up under the heavy coat and bindings. Jon winced at the way the leather straps he wore under his shirt pulled at his feathers. Though he was glad he had decided to wear the harness as he was certain the quite literal ruffling of his feathers would have been visible without it, even through the heavy jacket. 

“Hello Martin,” Jon said softly. Martin startled but managed to hide the worst of the jump. He had no idea when Jon’s walk had gotten so quiet. Martin supposed it might have had something to do with how much lighter Jon was these days. 

“H-hi Jon.” It wasn’t quite squeaked out but it was close. Martin took a steadying breath. It felt strange talking to people at work again, he had gotten so used to the quiet. It felt almost electric to meet Jon’s eyes, though they both broke the gaze quickly, neither ready for the intensity in the eyes of the other. 

“Would you- I mean, there’s a small Thai place nearby that serves some fantastic food. Open invitation if you would like to accompany me. Just to get the take out I mean.” Jon nearly sighed in relief. He was getting better at the whole not-question thing. Jon was sure the slightly red tinge to Martin’s cheeks was simply how hot it was in the break room. Forgetting of course that the reason he felt it was hot was the down pillow growing out of his back. 

“Oh, um, I- yeah, alright. I could do Thai.” Jon almost couldn’t fight the hopeful smile that played on the edges of his lips. He wasn’t actually hungry but he did rather like the idea of getting out of the Archives for a bit. The old expression of needing to ‘stretch his wings’ was hitting a little differently these days and Jon fought back a wince at the thought. 

“Right, good, um, I’ll meet you outside.” He kept enough of the question out of his voice but he thought Martin understood what he meant as the other man nodded as Jon made a quick exit of the break room to go and locate Basira in statement storage. He Knew where she was of course, though he tried very hard to play it off as having just been looking for her in the regular human way. 

“Ah- Basira, I’m getting Thai for everyone today. If you could tell me your order I will gladly add it to my bill.” Jon had to fight not to smile in his excitement at finally managing to ask a question without asking on the first try, he didn’t even stumble over his words this time. He counted it as a great success.

“Oh um, from the place down the street?” Jon nodded. “Number 12, and 43 then, if it’s on you.”

Jon nodded again. He had Known what her order would be, just like he Knew what Melanie’s would be, but he also knew that people preferred to be asked. _His_ Martin had taught him that.

“Hey what’s with the new look?” Basira asked looking at Jon’s new jacket, and Jon had to fight every muscle in his body to resist the urge to flinch or puff up his feathers. 

“Online shopping,” he blurted out. “I- um, haven’t gotten my things from my flat yet, so new clothes. It, well, it seemed to- um”

“It looks fine Jon. Your fashion sense isn’t a big concern here,” Basira cut in dismissively and Jon sagged a bit against the door frame. He knew he was a rubbish liar and he was glad for the out. 

“Right, I’ll, um, be back in a bit then.” He made a hasty exit and took a deep breath before going to look for Melanie in the abandoned supply closet she had turned into a lounge room. Complete with a small tv and video gaming set up. He hadn’t actually Known about it the first time around, though he hadn’t thought to look for something like it either. He was glad it existed though. It gave the Assistants a place to retreat that wasn’t soaked in all the horrors of this place. It was a charmingly human thing for them to have done. 

He knocked on the door and Melanie opened it only the smallest crack. She had been playing Mario Kart, Jon Knew. 

“What.” It came out flat. He had caused her to lose. Jon was secretly thrilled that she was mad at him for something so normal. What a novelty for her anger to be about something so mundane. 

“Thai food, from the place down the street.” He began. “I am paying for lunch. If you would like to be included I would like to know your order.” She looked at him strangely for a moment.

“Couldn’t you just Know my order?”

Jon swallowed. He did Know her order 56, 04, and 31. Jon took a deep breath and didn’t meet her eyes. “I- yes.”

“But you’re asking anyway.” Her voice was still utterly expressionless. 

“Yes.” Jon said. He was still looking down. He honestly wasn’t sure it if was shame over his constant breach of other people’s privacy, or his fear for her anger that kept his eyes glued to the floor. Though the end result was the same regardless. 

“Fine. What is my order?”

“56, 04, and 31.” Jon said quietly. 

“Nope I’m going to have 36, 18 and 03,” Melanie said, looking at Jon in a way he was pretty sure was daring him to dispute her. He let out a startled laugh. 

“I- yes, I- al-alright.” 

“See? You don’t Know everything about me.” It was mostly said with defiance. But Jon thought that just maybe at the edges of her voice was just a hint of teasing. Jon didn’t want to harbor too much hope though and quickly made his escape outside to meet up with Martin. 

Neither really seemed to know what to say to the other. Martin didn’t know what his future self’s relationship to Jon was, but It clearly had changed their dynamic, as every so often Martin caught Jon turning to say something to Martin, only for him to realize something and stop himself. 

It was cold outside and Martin couldn’t help but shiver a little. He turned to look at Jon, aware that historically the smaller man generally suffered from the cold worse than the others in the archives, but Jon’s cheeks still had a slight flush to them. 

“How are you not cold?” Martin finally asked, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen between them as they walked. 

“The, um, down filling between my back and my jacket is more than warm enough,” Jon answered in a tight voice, as though reluctant to remind Martin of the wings. As if Martin hadn’t been wrist deep in Jon’s feathers just the night before. 

“Oh. Huh. Peter Lukas keeps ice packs in the lounge freezer upstairs. He likes to sit them on the paper work so when it gets handed off it’s unpleasantly chilled. I could grab you some if you like?” Martin offered and Jon snorted in amusement. 

“I assumed Peter Lukas just brought the papers into the Lonely to get them as cold as they are.” Jon had been on the receiving end of a few passive aggressive post it notes and various requisitions forms in the first timeline, and they had always been unpleasantly cold if they were coming from Lukas. 

“No, it’s too damp there. Doesn’t get the same effect.”

“What an absolute drama queen,” Jon said with a laugh. Conversation flowed a bit easier after that, Martin sharing some of the dumb things he had caught his new boss doing and Jon revealing the rare smile and added biting sarcastic commentary to Martin’s words. It still wasn’t His Martin but Jon felt just the tiniest bit of his loneliness slip away talking here to _this_ Martin. 

***

What Jon had failed to consider when he had convinced Martin to join them all for lunch was that the others hadn’t seen Martin for months. If he had been thinking, he would have tried to come up with some sort of lie for why Martin was suddenly willing to talk to people again. As it turned out, though, Martin, being the more socially aware of them had that covered. 

“Long time since we’ve seen you around Martin,” Basira said as they deposited their Thai food on the table. 

“Jon was able to-“ he glance sideways at Jon before pressing on. “Jon was able to Know some things about Peter Lukas, some blackmail, get him off my back,” Martin said. Jon was impressed, it wasn’t even technically a lie. 

Basira and Melanie both turned to look intently at Jon and Jon turned to look intently at the floor, unable to bear to see their expressions at the reminder of his inhumanity. 

“At least those freaky monster powers are good for something,” Melanie said with a sigh. She reached into the takeout bag and started opening boxes at random. Jon didn’t think he had ever actually eaten lunch with his assistants willingly before. He was not unaware of the irony of only doing so now that he didn’t really need to eat. 

Conversation was stilted and awkward, but it was no where near as bad as he had been fearing. Much to Jon’s surprise it was actually Melanie who did the most to relieve the tension in the room by telling amusing anecdotes from her time on Ghost Hunt UK. 

Jon tried to savor it. He didn’t think they would be so friendly once the full truth came out. Even if they didn’t freak out over the various obviously inhuman additions to his person, when they found out he ended the world, or how they could actually leave the institute for good- well Jon was certain whatever goodwill he had earned wouldn’t hold up to that. 

He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter though. The most important thing was to kill Jonah Magnus. With Jonah Magnus – and possibly Jon himself – dead, the world would stay safe. That was what mattered. He just needed to make sure Daisy was out of the Coffin first. He couldn’t leave her down there. He told himself that was why he was stalling about telling the others the truth. That it wasn’t his own fear of their hatred or fear of his own death. Jon was a bad liar to other people but he had mastered the art of lying to himself, avatar of the god of dread knowledge or not. 

Eventually lunch finished, and Jon made his way back to his office, dreading having to turn the fan off to read a statement. There was an ice pack sitting on his desk. Jon smiled. 

*** 

The days that passed leading up to when Breekon would deliver the coffin passed with more peace than Jon would have expected. Lunch was eaten together daily, and Jon was shocked and delighted to find that each time was just a little less awkward. He had even made plans with Georgie to retrieve his things from storage, though it wouldn’t be until after Breekon was due to arrive. If he got trapped in the Coffin it was best that his furniture stay in storage. No point in causing any more hassle than necessary. 

It was a week in to this new balance that Basira pulled him aside after lunch. 

Jon had a complicated relationship with food these days, and he really only picked at it if he ate at all- often using lunch as a sort of extended tea break. He just didn’t really feel hunger for food in the same way anymore. He thought he had done a good enough job at the charade though. 

“Why aren’t you eating?” Jon looked up from his desk to where Basira was standing, having shut the door. 

“I-um, I’ve been having lunch with you all everyday,” he tried, feigning ignorance. It evidently didn’t work. 

“You want to try that again? I remember you could barely keep stuff down when you came in to operate on Melanie. Can you even eat anymore?” Jon looked down at his desk again. 

“I’m trying Basira,” he said with a helpless sigh. The first time around, it had taken him weeks to notice that food didn’t really taste like anything anymore, and that he never felt full after eating. It helped with the exhaustion to a point, but it was clear that he didn’t need food in the same way anymore, and the longer he was awake in this time line, the harder it was to force himself to eat. Well. To eat human food at least. 

“I- I don’t want to be a monster. I’m trying.” He didn’t have anything else to offer her. He couldn’t explain how it felt to be hungry for something he couldn’t have. The statement extracted from the drug dealer so long ago had helped, and the written statements helped stave it off, but Jon knew he’d need another live statement and soon. He was trying to hold out until Breekon showed up. The other thing of course was that Basira wouldn’t know about the live statements yet. Not this early in the timeline at least. 

“Do you even need to eat proper food anymore?” she asked, with less accusation than he would have thought. But again, she didn’t know about the live statements yet. Jon stared at his desk for a long time, fighting the urge to fluff out his feathers. Finally he came to a decision. 

“Some, I think, though I don’t believe starvation would kill me. I- what I really need are the statements.” He kept his eyes firmly on the desk and took a deep breath to reveal the next part. He didn’t want to see her face when he said it. “I- I see them in my dreams. The statement givers. And I- I know they relive their statement in their nightmares. And I’m just there, watching. Unable to do anything.” Her silence scared him more than he cared to admit, but now that he had made the decision to confess his eating habits he had to tell her everything. 

“I can- I can tell when someone has a statement, and I know if I asked they would tell me and I would feed on it.” The last sentence was coloured with the deep shame and self loathing Jon felt. Basira still said nothing. Finally Jon risked a glance up at her. Her face was blank. 

“Have you fed on someone?” She finally asked. 

“One.” Jon said miserably. “It was, with Melanie, I- I bought some drugs to knock her out, keep her asleep during the surgery. They were in her soup that day. She knows about it already,” he added quickly. “I- the man I bought them from- He started tell me about using them on a girl and I- well I suppose the justification doesn’t matter. He had had an encounter with the Slaughter a few years ago.”

Basira’s lips tightened. “You haven’t fed since?” 

“No- I, I am trying Basira, I- Well I suppose it doesn’t matter does it. I’m still a monster,” Jon finally said trying to firmly remind himself of the disgust he had seen in Basira’s eyes over his eating habits the first time around. 

“Do you plan on feeding again?”

“Not if I can help it,” he said morosely. 

“What’s that supposed to mean Jon?” 

“I- if another Avatar tried something, I, I suspect it wouldn’t be much of a choice.” He said to his desk. Basira gave a sharp nod. 

“Ok.”

Jon’s eyes shot up to hers, the question clear on his face.

“Obviously I’m not happy Jon, but you told me and that- well I guess that means something. But you are going to swear to me if you think you might slip- you are going to tell somebody.” 

“I- yes. I- I can do that.” He sounded small. He knew he did. He didn’t know how to handle Basira’s- not support, it wasn’t that. But it wasn’t anger or outright disdain either. Which had to count for something. 

“Right, I’ll leave you to your _actual_ lunch then,” Basira said gesturing to the stack of statements on Jon’s desk. It was almost a joke and Jon really didn’t know how to take that. Jon sagged to his desk when she left, feeling utterly exhausted. 

The pinging of his laptop eventually pulled him from his stupor. A new email from one S. Fairchild. 

“Finally,” he muttered, opening it up. It was empty save for a link for package tracking. So Jon assumed that meant that ‘Nature of the Beast’ was on its way. At the very least the timing should be about perfect. If the tracking was accurate it would be arriving sometime tomorrow evening, and he Knew Breekon would be arriving sometime the day after that. Maybe he could send the assistants on a coffee run or something when it arrived? He’d need to take Breekon’s statement. He would definitely need the boost before going into the coffin, but it would probably be best if the others weren’t around to watch. That hadn’t won him any allies the first time around. He ran his fingers through his hair, and picked up a statement from the pile.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter- The Buried. I live for your comments, they keep me sane in this crazy world, and are the biggest driving force of inspiration, so thank you so much to everyone who commented!!
> 
> I had to spilt this one in two parts, cuz it was getting a little long, so the next part should be out quicker than normal.

When Jon got home there were two packages waiting for him at the front desk, apparently the tracking data had been a day off. The doorman looked shaken. Part of the brown paper covering the smaller package had been torn and hastily wrapped back up, Jon sighed. 

“Hello Jeffery.” He said tiredly to the haunted looking doorman. 

“H-hello Mr. Sims.” The man held out the package to Jon, his hand trembling. 

“I suspect that something has happened with the book inside then.” Jon didn’t ask. The doorman’s eyes widened and he gave a fearful nod. Jon took the packages and massaged his temples with one hand. There were two choices so far as he could see. He could ignore it- leave poor Jeffrey Wilbur to his fate, and Jon could already see it likely wouldn’t end well if what he suspected happened _had_ happened. Or he could take the man’s statement- and know for sure what happened, maybe offer some advice- perhaps Jeffery would even survive it. Though he would have nightmares all his life. 

The Leitner in question was one of the Hunt, it was old, very very old, from the 11th century in fact. Though it’s original form had been changed and rebound many times. It was not the sort of Leitner that killed you usually, much like Mary Keay’s favourite skin book, this one could grant power to the reader- or at least the illusion of it. It had had many owners through the centuries, it had been rebound and restored many times. It’s most current iteration being a blood red leather cover with deep gouges in it, claw marks and suspicious dark patches stained long before the birth of anyone alive today. Including Jonah Magnus, which Jon hoped might give them an edge against the vile man. 

Jon wanted to be angry at himself for his weakness, but mostly he just felt resigned. He Asked. 

“ **What happened with the book Jeffery?** ”

Jeffery gave his statement, and Jon drank it in. By the end Jeffery was in tears, the trauma so fresh, and Jon had never felt more full. He felt ashamed. He did what he could for Jeffery, from the man’s statement Jon Knew he was lucky, he hadn’t read enough for the effects to be permanent- though the nightmares he would receive from Jon would be, but it was probably the lesser of two evils, he had a fighting chance at survival now. 

Jon gave what advice he could, how to mitigate the worst of the effects for the next few months, and convinced the man to call his girlfriend and go home. It was nearly the shift change anyway. Jon left him and made his way up to his apartment. 

Inside he looked properly at the packages he held. One of course was the “Nature of the Beast” Jon set it aside, curious, but unwilling to even risk looking at it until he had a chance to get Daisy out. Jon had never been good at resisting temptation, even when he knew what he was tempted by would lead to trouble, so it was best not to risk it at all. 

The larger package was a box containing a few new jackets, and a cheeky note about Jon’s growing relationship with Martin, Simon referring to the two of them as “birds of a feather.” Which Jon refused to mentally acknowledge and promptly balled the paper up and threw it into the waste bin- one of the few things he had bothered to purchase since moving in. The other thing he had purchased sat innocently on the counter top. 

It was a set of very specialized garden gloves. The finger tips were hard plastic claws, designed to make digging in a garden easier. If Jon was lucky they should make the Coffin a little easier too. He dreaded to think of what it would be like this time around, and he could hardly bare the thought of facing it a second time. He was certain that were his dreams not filled with other people’s nightmares, they would be filled with nightmares of the Buried. 

He stretched and slowly began the process of removing his coat, shirt and harness. Jon sighed in relief as he was finally able to spread his wings, trying to shake feeling back into limbs that had spent yet another day confined and forced into the same position for hours. It was lucky there wasn’t anything in his flat, as the wind gusts from his gentle flapping would have wrecked havoc. He shook himself again and went to the washroom to start the bath water running. He recalled after his first stint in the Buried it had taken weeks before he actually felt clean again, and he knew it would be worse this time around. The last time it had been his hair that drove him crazy- obsessively combing it, dreading to find the dirt that the first 15 showers still hadn’t washed away. It would be worse with feathers. There were so many places for dirt to get stuck. 

Jon tired to relax, letting the warm water ease the tension of the day, and the sore muscle of the wings- of his wings, from their forced confinement. 

He idly checked his phone there was a message from Georgie confirming their plans to meet up to get him his things back, and he tried not to dread it. Once he came out of the Buried he had little hope that their relationship would have any chance of surviving. 

Jon thought about perhaps texting Basira, letting her know about the incident with his doorman, she had seemed to respond better this time around when he had told her about taking live statements- but no, he would need her to trust him, at least a little bit if his plan was going to work. 

Actually, now that he thought about it, there was the distinctive possibility that he might not actually make it out of the Buried, his anchor this time around, was more of a broken heart than not, and even if his connection to the Eye was stronger now, his connection to everyone he cared about remained tenuous. While his permanent imprisonment in the Choke  _would_ mean that Elias’s plans would be delayed, it wouldn’t stop them. 

Jon heard a whirring begin somewhere off to his right, and he reached over without looking to grab the tape recorder. 

“Statement of Jonathon Sims, the Archivist, regarding the end of the world.” He began, painfully laying out exactly what had happened, and how he desperately hoped to prevent it. 

When Jon eventually got out of the bath, he sat down to start the painstaking process of preening. He had quickly discovered that without daily preening, he very quickly became non functional. The powder down would build up and become incredibly itchy. He could go about two days without preening but it was such a dreadful discomfort that Jon had quickly resigned himself to the fate of spending at least an hour a night combing through the ruffled feathers. 

It had felt better when Martin has done it. 

***

The day of Breekon’s arrival was one Jon had gone out of his way to ensure the assistants weren’t present for. Martin was easy, still working with Peter Lukas, though he joined them everyday for lunch, but that was alright, Breekon would come at the end of the day anyway. Melanie too, was easier to deal with than Jon would have expected. He had texted Georgie and said that Melanie was looking a little down, and perhaps they could use the Institute company card (or at least Peter Lukas’s credit card that Jon just so happened to Know) for a spa day that afternoon. It had been met with suspicion of course, but it was hard to say no to a free spa trip whoever you were. Besides, Jon had been serious, it would do them both a world of good. 

Basira was tricky, she had been the only one present when Breekon arrived the first time around, and Jon knew Breekon wanted her there when he delivered the Coffin. He couldn’t send her away until right before the man was to arrive. 

He wasn’t sure if he had accidentally compelled her or not when he suggested she go to the store down the block and get them some coffee, because she didn’t argue. Perhaps it was the fact that it was a rare sunny evening for once. Jon chose not to look too deeply into it. He would need to be quick. 

He took what nourishment he could from Breekon, asking the man for more specifics than he had the first time, new and interesting stories, Breekon had been around a long time. It wasn’t prefect but the live statement was still better than the paper ones he had spent his morning consuming. Then the man was gone and Jon was alone with the Coffin. He donned his clawed gloves and left the tape with his statement on the floor beside the Coffin. He could hear it calling to him. 

Next he stripped off his jacket and harness. Stretching out his wings for what might be the final time, and called Martin’s cell phone. 

“Hello?”

“Martin, I’m about to do something very stupid. I need you to come down to my office immediately and make sure no one follows me. Please make sure the others listen to the tape _Only_ in the tunnels.” 

“Jon what are you-“ Jon cut Martin off. This may well be his last chance to say it, and while Jon had always been a coward, this was something he couldn’t afford to be a coward about. 

“Martin the- the other you, from the future. I loved him. I loved him so much it hurts, and I had hoped we might get that chance again here too, but if we don’t, if I don’t come back from this- Martin I think I could have loved this version of you too.” Jon hung up. His phone began to ring immediately. But Jon put it on the ground next to his tape. He knew Martin would be coming down now, so Jon had no time to waste, no time to back out. He opened the Coffin, and stepped inside. 

***

When Basira arrived back at the Archives coffee in hand it was to the sound of sobbing. Martin was clutching a tape and had his back up against a coffin. No- Basira corrected herself, not  _A_ coffin,  _The_ Coffin. 

“Martin? What happened what’s that thing doing here?” She demanded. Comforting people had never been her greatest strength, and she was all too aware of what that Coffin did. 

“J-Jon. Jon’s gone into the Coffin.” He choked out. Basira very carefully set down the tray of coffees. 

“Martin, what’s on the tape?” Martin wordlessly handed it over, though his grip was tight enough that Basira had to practically wrench it out of his hands. 

“There’s a note, and we can’t- we can’t listen to it here. Jon says it has to be in the tunnels.” Basira nodded and walked away. Martin could follow or stay, she was pleased to see that after another heartbroken stare at the Coffin, he followed. 

She pressed play. 

“Statement of Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. Regarding the end of the world. Statement begins. 

If you are hearing this than I have gone into the Buried to rescue Daisy for the second time. I wish I would have had the courage to tell all of this to you all in person, but I have always been a coward. There is a great deal you need to know-“ Basira paused the tape. 

“Daisy is alive??” Martin nodded helplessly. Basira pursed her lips and stared intently at the Coffin. She thought about waiting; listen to the tape with Melanie present too- maybe even Georgie, her and Jon were friends after all, but she didn’t. She pressed play. 

“But I don’t know if you would even believe me. The most important thing I suppose is that Jonah Magnus is still alive. He is currently living in the body of Elias Bouchard. He- he designed a ritual, one that uses the Archivist. An Archivist marked by all fourteen powers- to bring them all into the world. The Grand Ritual he called it. A world made of nightmares, ruled over by the Eye.” Jon sounded as though he was choking back a sob. 

“It worked. I ended the world. My cooperation, wasn’t required. It was- it was bad. It was so horrifically terribly bad, and I- I wish I didn’t miss it.” His voice broke and there was the sound of gentle sobbing before Jon seemed to get a hold of himself again. 

“I- I suppose that part doesn’t really matter. There were a few other Avatars who were less than pleased with the way things turned out. Annabelle Cain, and Simon Fairchild chief amount them. Simon roped Jared Hopsworth into it as well, and Annabelle wrangled a few others. They sent me back to fix it.”

Jon took a deep shuddering breath. 

“If I don’t make it out- and given the strength of my anchor from the first time around is tenuous at best, and I don’t have a great deal of healthy friendships to find my way back to I may well be trapped here. But if I don’t make it out, Basira, I am so so sorry but you're likely to become the next Archivist. You are marked very deeply by the Eye, as well as the Hunt, and the Dark. You need to kill Elias before that happens. If you become the Archivist it’s very possible his death will kill you too, and he needs to die, he and I are the only ones alive who know about the Grand Ritual, and it must be stopped. If I remain trapped he _will_ try again, my death will only delay him.” 

The tape went on to describe exactly where Jonah Magnus’s body was, and how one might go about killing him. Basira only half listened to that part, she would re-listen to the tape later. Her mind was racing from Jon’s words, she was the next likely Archivist? Could it really be that simple for someone to turn into a monster like that? 

“There’s one final thing. If I die, and I suspect being trapped here would count. You can quit. I- I would ask that you try to destroy Jonah Magnus first but, but you could leave too. If, if it doesn’t work, if the Buried doesn’t count enough as death to free you, there is another way. If you are blind the Eye has no use for you. 

Melanie I ask that before you do so, wait a few days, the first time around it took me 3 to escape. Give me a week before you make any decisions. If I can kill Jonah Magnus, and likely myself in the process you’ll be free with your sight intact. Just, just give me a week. Tell Georgie I’m sorry. And Martin, God Martin I am so sorry.  And- and I’m sorry to the rest of you as well. It’s not fair to give you these confessions in a way you can’t respond to, but I’ve always been a coward.” 

Basira has a lot of things she wanted to say, but all of them she wanted to say to Jon. Martin didn’t deserve to bare her anger. She thought about calling Melanie, but the other woman would be back to the Archives the next day, and it wasn’t like Jon, or the tape was going anywhere. Let Melanie enjoy her day off for once. 

Basira was quiet. The only sounds echoing in the tunnels was the soft gasps of Martin’s sobs from the spot on the floor he had slid to as the tape played. After a long minute she held out a hand to him. He looked at her in confusion before cautiously taking it. She helped him to his feet and they walked to the Coffin in silence. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who managed to finish another chapter! I just have to say I was absolutely blown away by the response to they last chapter!! Thank you all so so much for commenting, I was going to hold off posting this till Monday, but I got so excited by the comments I stayed up half the night finishing it.
> 
> So thank you all so so much!

It was so much worse than Jon had feared it would be. He hadn’t bothered with a flashlight this time. It hadn’t helped him any the first time, and besides, he could See what he needed to. 

The second the Coffin lid closed behind him Jon could feel the dirt. It coated his skin and settled between his feathers, every particle of it more irritating than the last. The first part of the journey was bearable though. Jon kept moving, as quickly as he could, trying to ignore the sounds of the others trapped there. He figured if he moved quickly enough he could get most of the way to Daisy before the walls completely closed in. Though already he could nearly feel it scraping his shoulders as he walked, and it didn’t take long before he was reduced to crawling. Then digging. 

At first he was able to get away with just using the claws on his gloves, but as the earth pressed in around him and down onto him – and worse, the delicate bones of his wings – he was forced to thrust them out ahead of him and use the claws at their joints to shimmy himself forward. He was close, he Knew he was close. He heard the rumbling begin. He shut his eyes against the darkness to brace for the shifting of dirt that was coming. 

The first landslide Jon had experienced when he went into the Buried the first time around had been awful. Tumbling head over foot bashed against rocks and dragged ever deeper. It had hurt as what little air there was had been forced from his lungs by the unstoppable never ending force of the weight of creation. 

But the last time he had been in the Buried his bones had been a great deal stronger. 

Jon could hear something crack over the roar of the ever tumbling dirt. When it finally settled, too much of him hurt to be able to even define what was worse hit. 

“D-Daisy!?” he choked out. 

“Jon?” The breathless reply came from somewhere to his left. 

“Daisy, follow my voice if you can!” he shouted. “I- I’m coming to you!” He thrust his wings as far forward as he could and cried out at the pain of it, feathers ripping out and bone grinding. He inched his way towards Daisy.

His right wing found her first. 

“Daisy? Take my hand!” He reached out, careful not to claw her with either the garden gloves or his wing. 

“You, you’re real? You’re really here?”

“Yes.” Jon grunted in pain and the slowly dawning realization that something was deeply wrong with one of his wings. “I’m here Daisy.” 

“Daisy, yeah, Daisy. That’s me.”

“Are you alright? I- I mean, well no, no you're not but- but I have a plan. We are going to get out of here.” Maybe, Jon thought, if he said it with enough confidence he would believe it himself. 

“Where- where are we?” she asked. 

“The Coffin. We’re in the Coffin. I-It leads to… Well, it’s got a lot of names. Choke. The Buried.” He grunted in pain and let out a sarcastic laugh. “Too-Close-I-Cannot-Breathe”

“Yeah, yeah that sounds about right,” Daisy grunted out. 

“Come on, let’s- let’s get you out of here.”

“I- I can’t move. How are we supposed to-“ 

“I have a plan,” Jon said. This felt far, far too much like it had the last time, only it hurt more this time. Though Jon supposed there was more of him available to hurt this time around. 

“Is- Is it like all your other plans?”

“Broadly speaking yes,” Jon muttered. Daisy let out a startled laugh, or at least a sharp exhalation of breath- it was about all one could manage this deep into the Buried. There was a faint sound of static and Jon tried to reach for his anchor, tried to reach for anything, but all he could feel was a sickening feedback loop of fear, of the bone deep Knowledge that if he didn’t get out of here he would never see the sky again. 

It wasn’t the same thing about the Buried that had scared him the first time around, but with the mark of the Vast so prominent on his person- well the Vast was antithetical to the Buried. It was cancelling itself out. The Buried attacking the parts of his being tied to the Falling Titan, blinding the Eye, so deep did the rivalry run. 

“Oh god,” Jon breathed. 

“What- what is it?” Daisy asked, her own fear clear on her tongue. 

“I- it’s not going to work this time. I won’t be able to get us out I- I can’t, there’s, god I’m so sorry Daisy.” There were tears forming in his eyes, their tracks down his face leaving muddy streaks. Not even water stayed dirt free down here. 

“N-not alone though,” Daisy managed. 

“No. Not alone.” Jon squeezed Daisy’s hand. 

“Jon, are you wearing gardening gloves?” Daisy asked after a while. 

“Yes.” 

“God,” she said with an exhalation of breath Jon chose to read as a laugh. “Jon, I- I” she broke off, a slight moan as the earth pressed in around them. 

“Do- do you want me to Ask?” Jon remembered all too well from the first time. But he remembered talking had brought Daisy some comfort, and he was willing to hear her again. 

“Y-Yeah, yes, alright. Do your… thing.”

And Jon Asked. The conversation didn’t differ any from the way it had gone the first time around- or at least up until a certain point. 

“No. No. After the mission. I was planning to kill you.”

“I know,” he answered this time. He knew it very well. 

“How did you know that?” Daisy asked, taken aback. 

“This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. I- there was a- time travel,” he finally settled on. It seemed cruel to him that as the Archivist he could command other people’s stories into such eloquence, but was unable to grant himself the same. 

“What?”

“Yes, in- in the first time around I- we got out, and, well, I ended the world. I- I’m trying to fix it.”

“But you came after me again anyway? Even, even knowing what it’s like down here?” 

“Yes,” Jon answered simply. 

“You- you’re either suicidal or we are much closer friends in your future,” she gasped out. 

“Likely a little of both,” he said sardonically. The earth shifted around them, pressing Jon’s wing into Daisy. He curled the claw up and fought back a cry of pain as the pressure forced the top into his own skin. 

“Are- are those feathers?” Daisy asked and Jon felt a gentle tug on one of them, from the small space Daisy had wiggled out for her hand. 

“Ah- yes. I’d- I’d appreciate it if you-“ He gasped a little for air. “If you didn’t pull. They are sore enough as is.” There was silence again, and the only way Jon knew for certain that Daisy was even still there was the continued presence of her hand in his. 

“Jon do- do you have wings?” Daisy finally asked. 

“Ye-yes. It, um, g-gift from the future. Courtesy of a partnership between Si-Simon Fairchild and Jared Hopsworth.”

“Te-tell me about the future you tried to fix?” she asked, Jon didn’t know if it was purely curiosity or something else. Some remnant of the Hunt. 

“State-statement of Jonathan Sims re-regarding time travel.” And he told her. Everything. Gasping for breath and barely able to string 4 words together at a time, he told her. If there was any pleasure or catharsis to be found here, this was it. The chance to tell someone everything, without fear of Elias. Even Martin didn’t know everything. Jon had been too afraid that telling him everything would be emotionally manipulative. Someone comes from the future and says you’re destined to be together, that takes away your choice. He would never know if This Martin could love This version of Jon. 

“So- so you can’t- can’t feel your anchor this time?” Daisy gasped out.

“I- there’s too much doubt I think, and the parts of me corrupted by the Vast, it- it’s cancelling a lot of my abilities out down here.” 

“An- an anchor, is someone you love r-right?” Daisy asked, the part of her that had been a detective for so long whirring to life. “I, can you- can you see inside my head? Like- like Elia- Jonah can?” she wheezed. 

“I- I think so.”

“I- I love Basira. Can, can you use that? Use me and look- look through my connections?” Jon was quiet save for the rising tide of static that built up around them. 

“Oh. I- I think I can feel something,” Daisy said. “Jon are you-“

Jon gasped for breath, but at that moment the dirt shifted around them, and Jon clung to Daisy’s hand. When it settled Jon could feel a sharp pain in his leg, and he tried not to Know what it meant. 

“I- I think I can feel my anchor,” he said in awe. “I- come on, this way.” He pulled her along. It was as though looking at Daisy’s connection had reminded him how to see his own. The link was stronger now, and Jon clawed forward, dragging them both inch by painful inch with nothing more than the claws of his wings and a single gardening glove- unwilling to release his grip on Daisy’s hand, lest they get separated. 

Finally they reached the lid, and they used the last reserves of strength that neither thought they had to force it open. 

“We- we’re out I- I can’t believe we really-“ Daisy trailed off as she took in the scene around them, and the damage done to her rescuer. 

“Jon you stupid idiot wh-“ Basira trailed off. 

“Hi,” Daisy said. There was complete silence. Basira ran to hug Daisy. 

“What the fuck, Jon,” Georgie said. That was a surprise. Jon hadn’t expected to see her again. She certainly hadn’t been there when he came out of the Coffin the first time around. 

Now everyone was staring at him. Or, he suspected, his wings. He tried to take a step, to- he didn’t know, leave? Reassure them? It didn’t matter in the end, his leg was unable to support his weight and he collapsed to the floor, the pain of the ordeal finally hitting as the adrenaline wore of. Jon’s mind let go of consciousness and he knew no more.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS AT THE BOTTOM Please read them this is a heavy one folks!
> 
> I am blown away by the response the last few chapters have gotten, thank you all so much I can’t even begin to express how much it has meant to me. 
> 
> I absolutely love to hear from you all, and please feel free to hit me up on my tumblr too @nireidi

Chapter 9

Jon didn’t know if it was a mercy or not that he woke up only a minute later, he suspected not, as it was his own screaming that awoke him. Someone had tried to move him, badly jostling his injured wing. He gasped for breath as the pain rolled over him. And his rib cage didn’t seem to want to properly expand. 

“I think he’s awake.” Someone said, but Jon was too out of it to register who. 

“How the fuck do we move him if those- things are attached?!??” The had to be Melanie. Jon tried to open his mouth to say something, but all he managed was a pained groan. Someone tried to flip him onto his side and the air was knocked out of Jon’s lungs as he realized that his ribs must be cracked. The pain was too great to take in enough of a breath to scream again. 

“Jon? Jon can you hear me?” He managed to open his eyes and was surprised to see Basira. He blinked a few times trying to get used to the painful light and clear his eyes of dirt. 

“Jon we are going to move you onto your side- so we can try and treat your- um, back.” She looked deeply uncomfortable but it was clear years of being a sectioned officer and years of having to do emergency medicine as a cop were taking over. Even Daisy, muscles atrophied as they were, he could see preparing to brace his wing, least he accidentally strike out and hit someone. 

“R-ribs, left side- b-broken.” He gasped out. Basira gave a curt nod. 

“I’m going to roll you onto your right side then. It’s going to hurt but we- we need access to-“ She trailed off. Jon gave a tight nod and gritted his teeth in preparation. He felt multiple hands on his legs and shoulders as he was rolled onto his side. He let out a startled sob when the movement jostled parts of him he didn’t even realize hurt. 

Somehow his right hand found Daisy’s and his left, Martin’s. He shut his eyes again as Basira began assessing, attempting to figure out what exactly was damaged. He heard Daisy speculate out loud what may have happened and he swallowed hard and tried his best to suck in a breath. 

“H-hollow. My- my bones,” he took another deep breath, or as deep as he could manage. “They’re hollow.” A cough wracked his body, whether from the effort of breathing or the dirt still in his lungs he wasn’t sure. He drifted back out, though he was vaguely aware of conversation around him, but his mind had separated enough from his body that the pain was more of a sideways awareness. The tones he could hear were undefinable, but Jon assumed it was likely disgust. He wished now, he had prepared them for the wings before he went into the coffin. Too late now though. Finally, Jon drifted off all the way, and once again he prepared to walk through the nightmares of London. 

***

Jon thought he was awake, but the fact that Tim was staring at him may have been an indication that he was in fact, not. 

“Tim?” He asked in confusion. The two of them were standing in utter blackness, between them was a table with two stools. On it were four items roughly hewn from bone. A chess knight, a domino, and a pair of dice. 

“Hi boss, bit of a situation you have here eh?” 

“What’s going- I mean, if you can tell me what is going on that would be appreciated.” Tim smiled liked he hadn’t since they had been in research together. 

“Hey, nice one, no compulsions that time!” He sounded, genuine? Jon didn’t know what to do with that. Or with his presence in the first place. 

“Tim I-“ Tim held up a hand and Jon quieted. 

“First off, you aren’t sleeping. You and I both know what happens when you sleep.” Jon looked at the table, a sense of dread beginning to sit in the pit of his stomach.

“You remember statement number 9720406? Of, what was his name?” Tim snapped his fingers trying to recall. 

“Nathaniel Thorpe. Regarding his own mortality, and- and a figure like the grim reaper.” Jon swallowed hard. He didn’t like the way that Tim seemed to be wearing all black, or the way he seemed less there the more Jon looked at him. 

“That was the one!” Time said clapping his hands together. Jon flinched. “Come on, have a seat we have a lot to talk about.”

Jon sat down. 

“So I’m dead then.” He didn’t ask. 

“Not exactly. At the moment one of your broken ribs caused a tear near your heart, the resulting internal bleeding has been slowly collapsing both your lungs. You can’t really die in the traditional sense, but those were injuries inflicted by a Dread Power, and those can stick a little more. You would know. 

“So I’m going to die then.” Jon amended. Tim tilted his head to the side as though listening for something. 

“No, I don’t think so, Martin has been reading you statements, and Basira thought to grab some of Gertrudes tapes and play them around you.” Jon sighed and closed his eyes. He wasn’t even human enough to require real medical care. He had known that, of course he had, but somehow it always hurt to hear. 

“So why am I- I mean, I would like to know the reason I am here then.” 

“You’re having a near death experience.” Jon stared blankly at Tim. “Which means Death is having a near Archivist experience. You’re one foot into the domain of Terminus and one foot out. Which means I can come and talk to you. Though of course we have to be traditional about it- just ignore the stuff on the table.” He said with a wave of his hand. Jon gave Tim a calculating look. 

“ Are you really Tim? ”

“As much as you are really Jon.” Tim answered immediately, than swore under his breath. “Seriously Jon? You were doing so well. 

“I-oh, I- I’m sorry.” Jon said in surprise. Tim sighed. 

“I get it, don’t do it again.” Jon nodded quickly. “Now, few things, cuz we don’t have unlimited time.” Tim sat down across from Jon. 

“First of which being Terminus is a neutral party. Death’s domain exists whether the Dread Powers do or not. Fear is irrelevant aside from as a flavour, and for the most part, the dead don’t really care about the living. You’ve got your own thing going on. But Jon? Don’t be so quick to want to join us ok bird boy?” Jon shifted in his seat suddenly aware once again of the weight on his back. 

“I would think you would be the one to encourage me to end it. One less monster.” Jon didn’t say it with anger, only exhaustion. 

“Well you’re wrong. Look Jon the only people who stay in Death’s domain are the people who wanted to die. I wanted to die when I set off those charges so here I am, and I’m here to say, Terminus doesn’t want you as a guest in his court. So get your head right.”

Jon didn’t bother to hide the horror on his face at Tim’s words. 

“You’re trapped.” He breathed out dreading the answer. Tim shrugged.

“Sort of? I can’t really talk about what goes on on the other side, but people move on eventually.” Tim looked sadly at Jon. “You’re a real dick Jon.” Jon choked on a surprised laugh. “But being dead gives you an awful lot of perspective. I don’t think you deserve to be forgiven for the things you did, but I think you’ve earned the right to be allowed to move past them and do better.” Tim held out his hand to Jon. Jon very cautiously reached out and took it. It was cold of course, but it was solid and real in a way Jon didn’t expect. 

“You get a choice here feathers.” Tim said not letting go. “Be better.” 

The Not Dream began to fade. Though the sensation of Tim’s hand in Jon’s didn’t. 

“Wait! No! Tim- I- I’m sorry don’t go! I-“

“You got this boss.” The words echoed from nowhere and then they were gone. Drowned out by other words. Layered upon themselves, some from the voice of Gertrude Robinson some from the voice of one Martin Blackwood. There was still a hand in his, though he suspected when he forced his eyes open, it wouldn’t be Tim’s. 

He opened his eyes. It was painfully bright, and Martin’s voice stopped suddenly.

“Jon!?” Martin turned his head to call over his shoulder. “He’s awake! You’re awake!!” Jon tried to sit up and was hampered by the sound of a dozen or so tape recorders clattering to the floor. He had been laid on his side, he tried to stretch out his wings to counter balance as he shifted to a seated position, but cried out in pain as he was unable to do so, and as the attempt put pressure on the bandages wrapped around his chest, which secured his wings to his body. He tried not to tense. He hadn’t even wanted the wings. Why should it matter that he had been grounded. Why did the thought send a burst of panic thought his heart. He carefully arranged himself so the long primary feathers were left to hang over the edge of the cot. 

“Martin? What- where-“ Jon helplessly waved a hand. Even as he spoke he Knew some of the smaller details, he Knew he was in the tunnels. And he could See each and every half healed broken bone in his body. 

“What do you remember Jon?” Martin asked, finally letting go of Jon’s hand. Jon silently mourned the loss. 

“I-“ Jon thought back. It was probably best to avoid mentioning his conversation with Tim. Jon still wasn’t convinced it had actually happened and he resisted the urge to confirm it by Knowing. He would rather not Know for certain, loathe though he was to admit it, even to himself. 

“The Buried, Daisy and I had just come out of the Buried. Then there was, pain. A lot of pain and then-“ Jon waved his hand. 

“You broke a few ribs and your tibia we think.” Basira said as she stood in the doorway. Jon flinched, then again in pain from the first flinch. “And you broke one of those- things. On your back.” She added. Her face was unreadable. 

“How, um- I was unconscious for a while then I suppose.” Jon hazarded. 

“Three days.” Basira said, a strange inflection in her voice. 

“But you were in the Coffin for eight.” Martin added. Looking at Basira, some kind of silent argument clearly going on between them. Jon rubbed at his eyes and tried not to Know what their silent fight was about. 

“I hope Daisy is alright.” Jon said in lieu of asking. 

“She’s weak but doing better.” 

“The-the others too I hope.” What Jon really wanted to ask was how much they hated him. But he was too afraid of the answer that might lead to.

“You left a few things out in that tape of yours.” Basira said instead, which really was more of an answer than Jon wanted. He sighed and closed his eyes. Squeezing them shut tight to stop the flow of exhausted tears that threatened to fall. 

“I’m getting some tea.” Martin said abruptly. Standing up and leaving the small enclave masquerading as a room, before Jon could let out so much as a breath. 

“I- I’m a bit surprised to wake up at all.” Jon confessed to Basira eyes on the floor. 

“Did you think we would kill you?” She asked. 

“No?” It was a question but there was no compulsion behind it. “No I- I just thought maybe-“

“Maybe we wouldn’t treat your injuries ? Let you bleed out?” Jon didn’t look at her as he nodded. He braced himself best he could for her response. He didn’t expect it when she sat down on the cot beside him. 

“How long have you been suicidal Jon?” She asked. Her voice was gentle, not quite caring, he didn’t think, but not harsh. 

“I’m not-“

“Jon.” He sighed. 

“Probably since the unknowing.” He whispered. A confession he hadn’t even made to himself. Not out loud at least. Basira hummed in acknowledgement. 

“Ok.” Was all she said and it didn’t take the silence long to drive Jon crazy. 

“I just, you would have been free, why- you could have let me die.” He whispered. Basira sighed. 

“Yeah. We could have.”

“But, you didn’t.” He said in a small voice. He felt paper thin, and like his bones were more than just hollow, like the slightest harsh word would fully shatter him. 

“We didn’t.” She confirmed. “I- I’ve done a lot of thinking the past eleven days.” Jon could see her wrong her hands together slightly from the corner of his eye. “About what you said, how, how I may well be the next Archivist if you die.” Jon’s shoulders slumped in relief. Familiar territory. Of course they kept him alive, better the monster you know than the risk of another one of their own turning. It made perfect sense. 

“And, I don’t think you ever really had a choice in it.” Jon’s confusion returned. “I’ve talked a lot with Daisy the last three days, and before that with Martin, and, and I think I owe you an apology Jon. You came back- back in time even, knowing you were going to die to stop the apocalypse. That’s a lot on your shoulders, or a lot more at least.” Jon looked up and she was giving his back an apprising look. He frowned. 

“Was, was that a joke.” He said flatly. Basira shifted a little. 

“Melanie’s idea.” She muttered. “She thought it might break the tension.” Jon blinked again her. He felt very lost. He tilted his head in confusion. 

Basira coughed slightly to hide her laugh at how bird like the gesture was. 

“Melanie hates me.” Jon said, confusion still clear on his face. 

“Yeah, she was afraid you’d say that.” Basira sighed. Jon’s brow furrowed further. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“We all had a long talk while we were waiting for you. Since you woke up from your coma, all of us have seen how hard you’ve been trying, the team lunches and managing to pull Martin away from Lukas. Melanie and I, we thought it was your attempts to atone for the past, for the unknowing, but it wasn’t was it? You were trying to say goodbye in case you died in the coffin.” She let that hang in the air before continuing when Jon didn’t say anything. 

“Do you know what ASIST training is Jon?”

“Applied Suicide Intervention Skills Training.” He answered without thinking, then, “oh.”

“You know, suicidal people who have made the decision to die often seem happier in the days before. Because they think they see an exit.” Jon didn’t say anything. 

“Jon I’m sorry we didn’t notice how bad this has been for you. I’ve spent the last eleven days trying to put myself in your shoes and I haven’t really liked what I saw. I’ve had a lot of long conversations with the others- we didn’t want to overwhelm you when you woke up- but I speak for all of us. You aren’t doing this alone. We are here for you Jon.” 

Jon didn’t know when he had started crying. He didn’t have any words, and he couldn’t begin to define what he was feeling. 

“Can I touch you?” She asked gently. He nodded. And she very carefully took his hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS
> 
> -discussion of suicide  
> -character with suicidal ideation/suicidal tendencies  
> -discussion of death


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, same kind of content warnings as the last chapter, to everyone who commented- thank you so so much! It means a lot, I know we are dealing with some heavy topics here too. 
> 
> This is probably going to be the last chapter until the 18th, I have a practical exam today and then my written on the 18th and I need a minimum of 80% to pass, cuz paramedicine is hard.
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who has been reading and commenting, it means the world to me.

Martin returned some ten minutes later with two steaming mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits. Jon didn’t need freaky eldritch powers to know that the amount of time Martin was gone for was prearranged. It had never taken him that long to make tea, and Jon had once watched him try to make it with a tin can over a fire they found in one of the houses in Martin’s Domain in the Lonely during the apocalypse. The man had a  gift .

Jon gratefully accepted a mug and Basira relinquished her grip on his hand. She nodded at Martin and stood up before turning back to Jon. “I’ll be back once you’ve had a chance to have some tea to check on your injuries.”

Jon nodded, still a bit dazed by their conversation, and she left him alone with Martin. One of the two electric lanterns lighting the room flickered slightly and Jon had to remind himself firmly that the tunnels and the Buried were Not the same thing. 

He didn’t know where to start with Martin. Jon was very aware of the confession he had given before he went into the Buried, and while he had done so thinking he might not come out again, now that he  was out Jon wasn’t really sure where to go from here. 

Martin took a deep breath, Jon tried to ensure his accompanying flinch wasn’t visible.

“So we should probably talk about that phone call.”

Jon stared intently at the tea in his mug, as though it might grant him answers, or at least a way to escape this conversation. Martin sighed. 

“I think you already know that it wasn’t really okay, so I’m not going to berate you for it. I think- that considering everything that’s has happened it’s not really surprising that you are deeply depressed, and probably suffering from a whole host of mental health problems.” 

Jon didn’t notice the tears that had begun to fall – not at first at least. Didn’t really understand the cause of them either. He didn’t know what emotion he was feeling. He wasn’t sure if he was too numb or too overwhelmed. He took a sip of tea. 

“I know our lives don’t really make talking to a therapist an option. Not with Eli- Jonah, the possibility of Jonah listening in. But there are other treatment options that can be explored-“ 

Jon let out a snort. He couldn’t help it. The ridiculousness of the situation was hitting him. 

“I- I’m so far beyond human- I- I’ve been changed down to my very bones Martin. I don’t, I don’t really much see the point- there are so many other things to worry about my ‘mental health’ is-“

“Stop.” Jon stopped. He could hear the edges of anger in Martin’s voice before the other man took a deep breath. “Jon. You took steps to make sure that I was looking after myself, that I wasn’t isolating myself, and that precautions against Peter Lukas were being taken. So I am asking- No. No I’m telling you, that you can’t save the world if you are falling apart in the process. And I- I can’t make you want to get better, but you- but until you can make that choice I- I can be your friend but I- but I don’t think anything else can happen.” There was a shaky finality to his words. Martin wasn’t looking at Jon either, he Knew. 

It took Jon a good couple of shaky breaths to even remember how to speak. He was feeling a lot of things right now but none of them made any sense. 

“To- to be clear,” Martin burst out, before the half formed words on Jon’s lips could escape, “I- I don’t want a romantic relationship with you, because I- You need help Jon and I- I’ve been in too many relationships where I’m playing therapist and I can’t do that for you. I, I care about you to much and it wouldn’t be healthy.” 

Hurt though Jon was, he didn’t really blame Martin. He was a monster, even more so now than when  his  Martin had known and loved him. 

“And- and it’s not because you’re not human, or because of the whole-“ Martin waved his hand once again looking at Jon, though Jon’s eyes stayed on his tea. “Archivist thing,” he finished, practically reading Jon’s mind.

“I wouldn’t blame you if it were,” Jon said in a small voice.

“See- see that’s what I’m talking about,” Martin said with a sigh. “I can’t- it wouldn’t be fair to either of us to be in any kind of relationship right now.” The ‘right now’ did leave Jon with a vague sense of hope, and try though he may he couldn’t seem to completely squash it. 

“So your preemptively breaking up with me then?” he asked, the tiniest bit of his old humour creeping into it. 

“Yeah, I- I guess I am,” Martin said with a huff that was almost a laugh. More in relief than anything. “I- I think we can come out the other side of this Jon, but it’s- let’s get you better first.” 

They sat like that for a while. Jon finished his tea, and was able to choke down half a biscuit before his eyes began to feel too heavy to keep open. The last thing he was aware of was the sound of Martin turning Gertrude’s tape recorders back on, and then it was only the nightmares of London. 

***

The next time Jon woke up he was alone. He could tell his various dressings and splints had been redone so he must have slept right through Basira’s visit. He didn’t know what time it was or how long had passed; it was quiet though, so all the tapes had clearly run out. The small end table beside the cot held a stack of statements, and Jon reached for them without thinking, but stopped. 

The last three conversations he had had kept playing in his mind. Was he depressed? He didn’t know. How could one tell? Suicidal? Yes, he supposed that he must be. He certainly caught himself wishing all of this would end and that he could know peace, even for a little while- or perhaps sleep, really sleep without the nightmares and not have to wake up again. 

Jon tried to remember the last time he felt happy, actually truly happy, and he was surprised to realize that it had been before the Institute. Oh, he’d been happy with Martin in the cottage of course, but he realized with some degree of astonishment that even then, when he actually had something to live for, before the guilt of ending the world, that he wouldn’t have thought it would be a tragedy if he died. 

That was- well it should be troubling right? He should probably want to live? 

He didn’t know. Jon reached for the Knowledge of the warning signs for depression. And- oh. Well. That was- well, huh. That was information he didn’t know what to do with. 

He reached for the statement and tried to focus on that instead. But the entire time he read it he couldn’t quite silence the voice saying he deserved to feel this way, or worse. What if he tried to get better and couldn’t? 

When he finished the statement he looked up to see Georgie standing there with a glass of water and some Advil. 

“I don’t know if you still need them, but you broke a lot of bones and-“ She held them out and Jon took them, dry swallowing before taking a sip of the water. 

“I hate it when you do that,” she said with a faint smile, the old teasing tone more comfortable than Jon expected it to be. He offered her a confused smile. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate her being there, but by this point in the timeline last time around she had very firmly removed him from her life. 

“I- not that I don’t appreciate it- but, why, um no wait-“

“Why am I still here?” she asked for him. He nodded helplessly. She sighed and sat down on the singular camp chair the room contained. “I’ll be honest, at first it was because Melanie was upset about the whole thing and liable to gouge out her own eyes, so I didn’t want to leave her alone.”

Jon nodded. That made sense. And it was familiar territory at least. “She hasn’t-“ he began and trailed off leaving it short of a question once again. 

“No, no, thank goodness. I, I have to admit Jon I was really angry with you at first. Throwing yourself into danger like that and leaving the rest of us to pick up the pieces? But, but I, well I was talking with Daisy- She’s okay too by the way,” she added, seeing his mouth open, “and I realized how alone you must be feeling. You- I don’t know how much choice you had in the first timeline, with your humanity, or any of that, but you chose to come back, knowing that you didn’t have any friends and that you would be reliving what I imagine are some of your more painful memories.

“And I- I’ve been depressed, and it really sucks, and, and for some people the only thing that makes them want to get better is facing consequences, but I think you’ve probably faced enough of those already.” Jon was crying again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that these days. When he didn’t say anything, Georgie continued.

“I was going to bring the Admiral, but considering what he does to feather toys I thought it best to wait until you’ve recovered.”

Jon let out a surprised laugh, and the movement made his damaged ribs and wings twinge in imagined pain. “Yes, that’s- that’s probably for the best.” The silence that fell then wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was still a weight to the air. Jon took as deep a breath as he could manage. 

“Georgie, I- what if I try to get better and I can’t? What if this is just how my mind is meant to be now.”

Her face twisted into a odd expression. “You remember my statement?” Jon nodded. “I get it. I’ve been there. Depression sucks. Do you want to get better?” 

Jon was quiet for a long time. 

“Yes,” he breathed out, barely above a whisper. He had had to fight through a mountain of self hatred to get out that one little word and now he felt exhausted for the effort it had cost him. Georgie smiled. Then she pulled out a bottle from her pocket and put it on the table. It had Jon’s name printed on it as well as a long chemical name, but he knew what the bottle was. 

“You don’t have to take them unless you want them. But we wanted you to have the option when you woke up. Don’t ask how we got the prescription under your name. You probably don’t want to know.” The Knowledge trickled in anyway and he was concerned at just how easy it had been, if he weren’t up to his literal eyeballs in worry about other things he might have spared a though to worry about the state of the British medical system. 

He picked up the bottle, and with shaky hands took off the lid and dry swallowed on of the small pills tucked inside. When he had closed the bottle again he quickly found the air knocked out of him as Georgie wrapped her arms around him, feathers and all. 

“Ow,” he whispered. 

“Shit! Sorry! Are you ok?” He coughed a little and winced before nodding. “I’m really proud of you Jon. I-I’m not going to hang around the Institute if I can help it, but you have my number. Please call before you do anything stupid?”

“By your normal definitions I’d never be off the phone,” he managed, summoning just a hint of his old haughty attitude. Georgie laughed. 

“Feel better Jon, okay?” She stood up, giving him one last look before leaving him to his statements. 

***

Basira came by about two statements later with Jon’s backless office chair. 

“Are you well enough to walk? Or do we need to wheel you?” she asked in lieu of a greeting. 

“I don’t-“ he tried to Know the state of his body and immediately regretted it. His ribs were a lot better, and even his wing wasn’t as bad as it could have been, more of a crack than a true break, but his leg had been a bad compound fracture. Had he been human it would have been emergency surgery, and probably a permanent limp. As it was, the bone would take a good number more statements to heal, especially if it was only the written ones he had available to him. 

“I think the chair might be best,” he said, still unsure of what he was agreeing to. She held out her hand to pull him to his good foot, carefully maneuvering the chair to allow him to drape his wings over the edge. 

“Probably easier if I pull.” She held out a bungie cord, one of the ones they used to keep the really old drawers closed in document storage, and Jon tried not the think about the drawer that was now almost certainly open and exposed to the air, but some habits were hard to break. 

“Where- um- what’s, hmm. I trust there is a purpose in mind,” he settled on. 

“Yeah. Lukas is off doing something today, Martin didn’t know what. So we are having a Mario Kart pizza party.” Jon blinked in surprise as he was dragged along. He was more surprised to see that rather than going back up to the Archives, Basira pulled him to a room brightly lit by a dozen or so floor lamps and the glow of a tv. The wheels of his chair bumped over an extension cord. One of a dozen, he Knew. He also Knew that there was a great many disgruntled employees trying to find out what had happened to their extension cords somewhere in accounting. 

“We had a heck of a time getting the tv to work down here,” Basira said as she wheeled him more fully into the room. Martin had set up a snack table and Daisy waved at Jon from a bean bag chair. 

“But yours truly is a genius!” Melanie proclaimed loudly from a beanbag chair beside Daisy. Jon looked closely at the TV. It was an old model, one of the ones that probably weighed a ton, but it was propped up on a book. One that Jon knew came from a certain Library. Jon started to laugh. 

It was a relatively harmless Leitner all things considered. It was one of the Spirals, it caused things to always be on in the presence of the reader, which meant the lights at bed time, their alarm clock, fire alarm, all sorts of things. Normally though, only the reader could see that they were on. 

A nasty piece of work to the right reader. 

“If I open the book and put stuff on top of it, they turn on!” Melanie said cheerfully. “Basira and I figured it out a few months ago, after the Flesh attacked. We had been looking for weapons but…” Melanie shrugged. 

As he settled into the unexpected party, Jon actually felt like maybe things really could get better. Still, he would die when Jonah Magnus did. But maybe it was ok, just for now, to pretend he would be ok. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise more wing related content in the next chapter!! We had to get through the heavy emotional stuff first


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s a short one folks, I should be back to longer and more frequent chapters soon! I pasted my final exam so I am now a certified emergency medical responder! Now I just need to find a real job lol.
> 
> Your comments helped me through my exams so thank you all so much!

The party had been nice. There was a hard veto on discussing anything work related. Though Jon could feel people staring at his back when he wasn’t looking, at least they were polite enough to make sure he never visually caught them. He supposed he could thank the Ceaseless Watcher for that lovely little awareness though. He always knew when someone was watching him.

Now that he was back in his room and the others had either gone home or retreated to wherever it was in the Institute they slept at night, Jon had a problem. And that problem was deeply, deeply itchy.

It had been ignorable during the day when the others were distracting him, and even the dull ache of his leg kept his mind off it, but now, alone, with no more statements to read and nothing to do but try and sleep, Jon was intimately aware of the fact that he hadn’t preened in over a week.

Oh, someone had sponged off the worst of the dirt, Jon Knew with a bit of a blush, but while his wings had been vaguely brushed off, the emphasis had been more on stabilizing the fracture, rather than a true clean. Which meant that Jon was very aware of all of the dirt and built up powder down that very badly needed to get dealt with.

The trouble was, the bandages were wrapped in such a way that made them very difficult to remove on his own. The claws on the joints weren’t quite flexible enough to reach the bandages and he was pretty sure they were tied at the back. Of course they hadn’t left him any kind of sharp objects he could use to cut through it either. He squirmed in his seat. Maybe he could use one of the disposable razors Martin had left in the bathroom to cut through the bandages.

Thankfully there was a shower in the Archives, put in at Gertrude’s request. Jon knew that that shower contained at the very least a bottle of shampoo, which might help to break up the oily build up on his wings. He knew this because he himself had placed it there, prone as he was to working late even before he knew what being the Archivist entailed. Which brought Jon to problem number two.

Basira had taken the rolling stool when she returned him to his room for the night. So in order to get to the salvation of the shower, he would need to walk, all the way back into the Archives and climb out of the tunnels. He glared mournfully at his still-broken leg. Hopping wasn’t an option. His ribs were better, but not by that much. Crawling was a possibility, but Jon wasn’t certain his dignity could take the blow, though given how itchy he was he was almost willing to chance it.

That was when he noticed the door.

“Hello Helen,” he said, exhaustion heavy in his voice at seeing it. It creaked open, Helen’s too many jointed fingers curling around the edges.

“Hello Archive!”

Jon stiffened. “Why did you call me that?” He didn’t even bother keeping the compulsion out of his voice, though he didn’t put the strength into it that he could have.

“That’s what you are! Don’t you remember? That was very rude, Archive, and here I came to say hello and welcome you back!” Her door was open all the way now and she leaned casually on the frame, her hair curling and uncurling itself in tight spirals.

“So you recall the future then?” He didn’t need to ask, but he wanted the confirmation anyway.

“Time is hard Jon.” Jon tried to hide his relief when she finally dropped the title.

“Yes I suppose it is.”

“Your wings look very pretty,” she offered.

Jon looked appraisingly at her fingers. They were probably sharp enough to undo the bandages, but did he trust her to? Well no, obviously not, but the itching was bad enough to risk it.

“Would you mind-“ he gestured to the bandages, and mimed her cutting them. She laughed and he winced at the sound. The echos rattling around in his hollow bones.

“Sure. Since you didn’t ask so nicely,” she said, sliding a finger under the front of the bandages and pulling down, slicing cleanly though them, and only leaving the smallest trail of blood down his chest where she just barely scraped against him. Jon figured it was probably the best he could have hoped for. He nearly cried with the relief of stretching out his good wing, even if he couldn’t actually fully extend it in the small room.

“Lovely eyes they have,” Helen offered.

“Thank you.” Jon said flatly. He didn’t know why Helen was here and even if the others always seemed to trust her, he had a hard time trusting something so antithetical to his own patron. He was the avatar of horrible knowledge and Helen was an avatar of lies. They weren’t a great pair. But she had been one of the avatars that helped Jon get back to the past, so he tried to offer her some measure of courtesy.

“I assume you dropped in for a reason,” he didn’t ask.

“I just dropped in to see how you were doing.”

“You just wanted to see the wings,” he accused, and she laughed. It set his teeth on edge a little and he fluffed up his feathers on some instinct he couldn’t understand. Helen laughed harder.

“Sorry Jon, didn’t mean to ruffle any feathers.” He winced a little at that. What a dreadful pun.

“Yes you did.”

“Yes I did,” she agreed with a smile that curled at the edges. She looked at his leg. “You should probably eat something if you want that to get better.”

“I have been,” he said tightly, and Helen gave him a look.

“You know what I mean, Jon.” He looked down and Helen sighed, causing an oddly coloured mist to swirl briefly around her before dissipating. “Anyway, I have decided that I prefer the world this way.” Jon supposed that made sense. Hard for people to trust their senses at the end of the world. Madness would be more of a comfort than a fear. “So I’m here to make sure you look after yourself.”

“I’m just fine on my own thank you Helen,” Jon said dismissively.

“You know that leg isn’t going to heal correctly until you eat something fresher than stale paper.”

“I know,” Jon said with a sigh.

“You’re an idiot Jon,” Helen said with an answering smile. Then she held out a stick. “Gift for you.” Jon cautiously reached out and took it. It was a cane, the handle stylized like a bird skull. “Found it in one of my hallways.” She was now grinning so wide her smile was beginning to fold in on itself.

“Really,” Jon said flatly. Helen’s expression didn’t change.

“Get something to eat Jon, you’re irritable when your hungry.” She closed her door and Jon was left alone again.

He glared at the cane. There was no way the bird skull was a coincidence. Helen had no doubt targeted someone intentionally for this cane as a… gag gift? He supposed? Still, his wings itched almost worse now that they could move again. It didn’t take Jon long to decide to give in and just use the blasted cane. He did his best not to think about Jeremy Scott, the previous owner, but tired as he was, it was hard to stop the flood of Knowing.

He dragged the singular crappy plastic stool from the break room with him on his way to the shower. Jon had no illusions about his ability to remain standing the entire time. His good leg was already shaking with the effort getting here had taken, to say nothing of the painful ache in the leg that was still broken.

Jon very quickly gave up his attempts to shampoo his wings. They were far too large and it only made them itch worse. Though words could not even begin to express how grateful he was that the shower head was the detachable sort. He didn’t even mind the fact that it ran out of hot water some ten minutes in.

The water pressure was decent enough that Jon could really get to the deep layers in between his feathers and start to get some of the dirt out. It was exhausting, but so worth the effort. When he was finished, his wings were dripping and heavy. What he really needed was an open space he could spread them out and allow them to dry. Then he would need to preen. The water may have gotten out all the dirt, but the powder down was more tricky.

There was nowhere in the Archives that would be open enough for his full wingspan, but Jon Knew there was roof access to the building. He forced himself upright and put his trousers back on, forgoing a shirt, and snagged one of the ratty blankets Martin had left at his desk to toss over his wings. He Knew there wasn’t anyone in the building who hadn’t already seen them, but the thought of being exposed in the rest of the Institute made him uneasy.

As Jon fought his way up several flights of stairs, he wondered if he could sue Elias for failing to provide reasonable accommodation in the form of elevators. It was an old building, but still. Something to talk to Simon about, he thought idly. It might not stop the apocalypse, but it might be nice to irritate the man for no other reason than to cause irritation.

It was a rare warm night and Jon was grateful for it. He was also grateful that the dark colour of his wings meant he blended in with the roof, keeping his inhumanity hidden from prying eyes. He sat himself on the ground near the edge of the building so he could look out at the city and manually spread the damaged wing out behind him, careful of the delicate bone protesting under the weight of his sodden feathers.

He heard a scream. In the alley just below him a man was being mugged. Jon tensed. He didn’t have his phone, and he doubted anyone would hear him if he shouted. He watched.

And very suddenly he didn’t feel so hungry any more. It wasn’t like extracting a statement from someone. This was different. This was first-hand Watching, and Jon drank it in. He watched as the thieves ran off into the night and their victim cursed as he stumbled in the opposite direction.

The man didn’t seem to be hurt. Jon told himself he was watching to make sure the man was okay, but the truth was he watched until the man found an open convenience store because until he passed through those doors that he perceived as safety, he had been very afraid. Jon forced himself back from the edge of the roof, afraid he might accidentally feed in this new and terrible way again.

He failed to notice at first that his broken wing had moved freely and without pain as he moved back. When he resettled himself and took stock, he realized that even his leg didn’t hurt as much.

Jon was shaken. He didn’t know what this meant. He tried to distract himself by flapping his wings to shake the last of the water from them, but the pain-free nature of the movement did little to calm his worries. He preened as quickly as he could before making a quick retreat back to the room in the tunnels. He lay awake for a long time, afraid of what he might see in his dreams before sleep finally claimed him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff for you all, your comments are 100% the fuel for my muse on this one. 😊

To Jon’s surprise and relief, his dreams were free of muggers, though the usual host of statement givers still made their appearance. Thanks to his nighttime wanderings, Jon was still deeply asleep when Martin came by with a stack of statements and a cup of tea. 

Martin didn’t want to wake Jon, though he couldn’t resist talking a few pictures. In his sleep Jon had fluffed up his wings and the already small man looked dwarfed beneath them. It was hard not to think the scene was utterly adorable. Jon snuggled deeper into the mess of feathers, and Martin held back a giggle as he snapped another photo. 

Then he pulled out a pen and wrote a quick message on the back of one of the statements, before placing Jon’s morning tea beside him and leaving. Loathe though he was to do so, he did still have work that needed to get done for Peter now that he had returned from whereever he had gone. 

When Jon did finally wake up, it was to cold tea, though the gesture still warmed his heart. He found the note Martin had left, wincing a little that it had been written in pen on a statement. Jon would never admit it out loud, but it made the entire statement a little unappetizing somehow. 

The note informed him that the others would be back in the Archives today, and someone would come down to check on him at lunch. Jon reached for his phone to check the time. 10am. He had slept far later than normal. He considered the statement that Martin had left for him, and almost ignored it before a twinge in his leg reminded him that despite feeling much better after whatever last night had been, he still had a ways to go before he was fully recovered. He dry swallowed a pill from the bottle Georgie had given him, and settled in to read. 

The statement didn’t take long and Jon, eager to be out of the tunnels after his brief taste of freedom the night before, grabbed his new cane to begin making his way to the Archives. He paused at the door, suddenly far more aware of the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt than he had been the night before. At least at the party his chest had been so bound up to keep his wings splinted that no one could see the extent of the worm scars, or the bruising left by the Buried, bruises Jon had found much to his annoyance seemed to heal at much the same rate they had when he was human. His patron was more concerned with keeping him alive, and he certainly didn’t have to be comfortable for that. 

After some thought, Jon grabbed the blanket still folded unused at the foot of the cot and threw it over his shoulders. He immediately regretted it. He hadn’t used the blanket for sleeping because the down of his feathers was incredibly warm, a fact which did not change just because he was awake. Still though, it was better for him to be uncomfortable than to make everyone in the Archives uncomfortable. 

He made it as far as the break room before he took a break from walking on his still-injured leg. He sat down on the metal end table, because without spreading his wings around him there was no way he would be sitting on the couch. 

“Jon! How did you get up here? Your leg was still very broken last I checked.” It was Basira. Jon waved the cane slightly in the air. 

“Ah, Helen dropped by last night. She, um, brought me a gift.” 

Basira stared at it for a moment. 

“Does that can have a bird skull handle?” she asked, and Jon thought he saw the edges of a smile teasing her lips. 

“…yes,” Jon said, reluctance clear on his face. She tried to hide her chuckles but did so very poorly. 

“Is this going to be a theme with you then?”

“I rather hope not,” Jon said pulling the blanket around him more tightly. Basira noticed the gesture and bit back a sigh. 

“Your, back still injured?” 

“Ah, n-no,” he said. “Ribs largely recovered too,” he added, his own private amusement at the word ribs went unnoticed. 

“You hiding those things for your benefit or mine?” she asked. Jon blinked at her like a deer in the headlights. He coughed lightly. 

“It’s, um, inappropriate to be wandering the Archives without a shirt on.” He finally said. Basira let out a surprised laugh. 

“We had to cut your shirt off when you first got out of the coffin, but I think I have a solution for that.” She disappeared for a moment only to return a moment later holding some kind of white fabric. 

“Here, this should do it. Melanie bought it for when you woke up.” She tossed it at him, he promptly fumbled it and then bent to retrieve it from the ground. It was a halter top dress shirt, the kind a stripper might wear and it was, Jon was quite certain, some kind of horrifying spandex cotton blend. He looked at Basira with some horror. 

“Is this meant to be lingerie?” he asked scandalized. So much so that the compulsion was completely absent.

Basira laughed. “It’s that or ‘inappropriate office nudity’,” she said, doing a passable impression of his accent. Jon said nothing, though he did quickly slip the shirt on and do up the buttons. He didn’t remove the blanket though. The silence began to stretch out between them. 

“Right, I’ll, um, see you at lunch then.” Jon said and retreated as quickly as he was able to his office, where he Knew his coat and harness were located. 

He allowed himself to indulge in a thorough fluffing of his feathers and shaking his wings out before finally getting down to it, unaware of the loose bits of feather and fluff he had inadvertently spread throughout his office. Strapping the wings back down, bruised as he was, wasn’t a treat, nor was once again having to suffer the effects of the heat from all the down, but Jon was grateful to be able to hide again, to be able to pretend, at least for a little bit, that he was still human. He flicked the office fan on and responded to a few utterly mundane emails. Despite the Institute being a literal fear factory, and a temple to a damned god, Jon was still technically head of a department, which mean he still had to deal with email chains from every other department. 

Apparently things had been going missing from accounting. Jon glanced around his desk fan and then deleted the email, not feeling the least bit guilty. At least the temperature was consistent in accounting. 

He busied himself with the menial office tasks he generally ignored in the first timeline: payroll, a requisition to get someone to fix the dishwasher in the break room, various assorted bureaucratic things. Then, just to see what would happen, he put in a request for a pay increase for himself and his staff. That done, and with Jon’s desire to do actual work nonexistent, combined with his desire to resolutely not think about what had happened last night, he decided to have just a little bit of fun. 

Jon was not naturally skilled with computers. He did however have a direct download of information courtesy of the eldritch fear parasite that lived in his head. So he spent the next half hour signing Peter up for the most irritating email lists he could think of, and giving out the man’s personal cell number to as many call centres as possible. 

His reign of terror was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Lunchtime.”

It was Melanie, Jon looked up to see in some surprise. He had been a little too absorbed in setting Peter up to be hounded by pyramid schemes to Know she had been heading his way. 

“Or I suppose Tea-“ she cut herself off with a sneeze. Her eyes looking a bit red around the edges. “Time. For you,” she finished. 

“Ah, um, thank you,” he said to her retreating back. He left his campaign of mischief and grabbed his cane, making his way to the break room. Basira and Daisy were already there. Melanie was pulling out two pitchers of what Jon was pretty sure was sangria from the fridge. He Knew that Martin was on his way down, having just finished up a meeting with the head of research. 

Jon went to awkwardly straddle one of the break room chairs. He had evidently forgotten the stool he usually sat on in the shower the night before. As Melanie joined them at the table she sneezed again. 

“You coming down with something?” Daisy asked looking at her with suspicion. 

“No, it’s weird. My allergies don’t usually affect me down he-“ her voice trailed off as she glanced at Jon. 

“You’re allergic to feathers,” he said, a little surprised at the sudden Knowing. Though he really shouldn’t have been. 

Everyone in the break room froze. They had, over the course of Jon’s unconsciousness, decided to try to take Jon’s lead in regards to the wings. Martin had done his best to explain what he knew once Jon and Daisy had emerged from the Coffin, and Daisy had filled in what she knew about them too.

Everyone wanted to ask of course, but it had been decided that given Jon’s already tenuous mental health, and given that they were the first real, physical sign of Jon’s inhumanity, most of them, sans Basira, had decided not to bring them up until Jon did. Basira had disagreed with this theory, given how prone Jon was to hiding things, but had been overruled. 

“Do you think if I brought a doctor’s note in they might fire me on medical grounds since I’m literally allergic to my boss?” Melanie asked after a long minute of silence.

Jon let out a slightly strangled noise that might have been a laugh. “I- I suspect not, but you may be able to write off your allergy medication as a work expense,” he said, only the slightest pinched edge evident in his overly dry tone. The silence shifted its focus directly onto Jon. He couched awkwardly. Daisy snorted into her tea, Melanie scoffed. 

“Figures this place wouldn’t even have reasonable accommodation for allergies,” she said with an overly dramatic eye roll and a slight sniffle. “For real though Sims, you need a broom for your office, there were bits of fluff everywhere.”

“She’s got a point,” Daisy said, plucking a piece of loose down off of Jon’s coat. 

“Ah. Uh, s-sorry,” he stammered out, face flushing. “It’s, um, difficult to control the, uh, shedding. They are, uh difficult to clean on my own.”

“How often do you need to clean them?” Basira asked, curiosity clear in her voice and Jon could practically feel the Eye’s approval. 

“Ideally once a day,” he said. 

“Aside from the shedding what happens if you don’t?” Daisy asked idly pushing her food around on her plate. 

“I itch,” Jon said with no small amount of distaste. 

“Huh, sounds unpleasant,” Daisy said. 

“Supremely,” Jon replied, the familiar haughty tone creeping back into his voice. 

“We can strip Jon down and ruffle his feathers later. For now, sangria,” Melanie said just as Martin walked in. 

A deep blush immediately coloured Martin’s cheeks and he coughed. 

“Ah, bad timing?” he squeaked out. The assistants collectively burst into laughter. Even Jon couldn’t help but let out a few suspicious coughs.

Melanie poured a glass of the sangria and passed it to Martin. “Drink up. I heard you were meeting with research today,” she said.

Martin groaned. “Don’t remind me.” He took a large swallow. “I’m pretty sure Leopold wins the award for the most insufferable human being on the planet.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing then that I’m not really human any more or I might feel my title had been threatened,” Jon said quietly. The room went quiet again as everyone stared at Jon, and he slouched in his seat a little, before Basira started to laugh. Jon gave her a hesitant smile. Even Melanie let out a bit of a chuckle as she poured another glass from the other pitcher and passed it to Jon.

“This one is non-alcoholic,” she said.

He took it in surprise. It was a bad idea to mix anti-depressants with alcohol, he knew, but the idea that they had taken the time to make a special non-alcoholic drink for him so he would feel included hit him like a brick.

“Oh. Th-thank you,” he stammered. The conversation began to flow a bit more naturally after that. Martin regaling then all with horror stories about Leopold from research, and some light mocking about how uptight Jon had been when he first started in the Archives. It was comfortable. 

“So I suppose the next move is to talk to the spiders then,” Martin said once a natural lull in conversation hit. He glanced at Jon for confirmation that they didn’t have any unwanted listeners, and Jon shook his head. He had even managed to prevent any tape recorders from Manifesting. Loathe though Jon was to admit it, the Archives were his seat of power. If he was present and didn’t want it, then Jonah couldn’t watch here. 

“They may have a way to kill Elias without killing Jon.”

Jon was deeply uncomfortable with this line of conversation, but it seemed important to the others that he survive the killing of Jonah Magnus, and while Jon was far from a place where he agreed with them, he did decide to at least try to find a way to survive it. Which he supposed was progress of a sort. 

It was decided that tomorrow they would go to the house on Hilltop Road and seek out Annabelle Cain, assuming Jon’s still-damaged leg was up for it, Martin was quick to specify. 

Martin wasn’t able to stay longer than the singular hour designated for his lunch, because he had to get back to meeting with research. Peter had largely given up on Martin and had decided to take the approach that if Martin still wanted to be around people, then Peter was going to make sure Martin was around the kind of people that made you wish you were lonely. 

“Would… I be allowed to return to my flat tonight?” Jon asked with some hesitance once Martin had left. There was a silent conversation that seemed to go on amongst the assistants. 

“Take Daisy with you,” Basira said after the unspoken conversation was finished. That suited Jon fine, as the main reason he had wanted to return to his flat was to collect the Leitner for her, so he simply nodded. 

It was a nice feeling actually, to be able to say he was going home after a work day. He tried to count it as a victory, though he felt silly to be celebrating such a small feeling. But he supposed you had to start somewhere.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Inspired Fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24574861) by [Kiritsu (fluffyhojo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffyhojo/pseuds/Kiritsu)




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